Cattermoles Abroad
by Model Builder
Summary: After escaping from the UK, the Cattermole family is granted asylum by the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and finds a home with the Stephens family. But Dolores Umbridge is not through with Mary Elizabeth Cattermole and will stop at nothing to get her back, even if it means a possible confrontation with the Stephens family's formidable matriarch, Endora.
1. Infiltration and Other Concerns

**Cattermoles Abroad**

A "Bewitched" / "Harry Potter" Fanfiction Crossover

With guest appearances by "The Addams Family," "Once Upon A Time," "Li'l Abner," (really) and a host of others . . . .

After escaping from the UK, the Cattermole family is granted asylum by the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and finds a home with the Stephens family. But Dolores Umbridge is not through with Mary Elizabeth Cattermole and will stop at nothing to get her back, even if it means a possible confrontation with the Stephens family's formidable matriarch, Endora.

Disclaimer: This story is the product of a hobby. I do not own "Bewitched," (which is currently owned by Sony Pictures Television,) or "Harry Potter," (which was written, of course, by J. K. Rowling,) or any other television shows, movies, books, or comic strips referenced in this story. This story was written for fun, not profit. I hope this satisfies all legal requirements . . . .

Historian's note: This story takes place in August - October of 1997, in a blended world of "Bewitched" and the "Potterverse" at the time of "The Deathly Hallows." Every effort has been made to stay within the timelines established by the "Bewitched" and "Harry Potter" canons.

Author's note: All "Bewitched"/"Harry Potter" interface points in this story will be "Harry Potter" based. For example, the characters from "Bewitched" will use "Harry Potter" terminology; such as saying "muggle" when referring to non-magical people instead of "mortal."

Because this story was started before the revelations about the American Magical Community in the upcoming "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" film, my American characters will still be saying "muggle" as opposed to "no-maj" to describe people who cannot do magic. However, references to the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and the North American Wizarding School, Ilvermorny, have been added.

 **Chapter 1: Infiltration and Other Concerns**

On the morning of 2 September, 1997, the United Kingdom's Ministry of Magic was infiltrated by Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Though the actual purpose of the infiltration was unknown, one of the end results was the escape of dozens of Magic Thieves from Ministry custody, including one that at the time was being interrogated by Dolores Jane Umbridge, Head of the Muggle Born Registration Commission. And to add insult to injury, the Magical Eye of the Blood Traitor Alastor Moody, (that had been claimed by Umbridge as a trophy to decorate the door of her office,) was missing as well. No doubt stolen by Potter and his gang.

In the immediate aftermath of the Infiltration an emergency meeting was called by Yaxley, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with all department heads in attendance. The meeting, which had gone on for hours, was finally coming to an end. But Dolores Umbridge had pressing concerns of her own that needed to be addressed.

For the moment, Umbridge held her tongue. As pressing as her concerns were, she decided to wait until the meeting was over and the others had left before bringing said concerns to Yaxley's attention. The others did not need to be bothered with any of these details. And besides, the fewer people in the Ministry who knew of her potentially controversial "side project," the better it would be for all involved.

As Yaxley brought the meeting to a conclusion and the others began to file out of the conference room, Dolores reflected on the fact that even though she had known and worked with Yaxley for decades, she never knew his given name. Nobody did. Some said that it was "Yaxley;" the same as his surname: Yaxley Yaxley. Still others insisted that he did not have a given name, (or had abandoned the one he did have,) because he wanted history to know him by a single name in the manner of Merlin. Or maybe he actually believed in that "Old Witch's Tale" that says an enemy has magical power over you if they knew your "true name."

Regardless, Dolores had her own agenda that just so happened to conflate with Yaxley's own interests and Dolores was confident that she would have his full cooperation to expeditiously resolve the matter at hand.

When the last of the other attendees had left, Umbridge said, "Now that we have a plan of action to present to the . . . _appropriate authorities_ . . . regarding this morning's fiasco, I was wondering if I may have a private word with you regarding a special concern of the Muggle Born Registration Commission?"

Yaxley looked uncharacteristically amused. "By "special concern," I assume that you mean the loss of your latest precious "trophy," Dolores?

"Certainly you are not about to suggest that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement make the recovery of Moody's old eye a priority when my department has other, more _pressing_ matters at hand to attend to?"

Dolores gave Yaxley one of her usual sickeningly sweet smiles, and replied in a voice to match, "Not at all, Yaxley. Though I confess that I _would_ be happy to have my stolen property returned, that is not the concern that I wish to bring to your attention. As you are aware, Potter and his friends have aided and abetted the escape of several Magic Thieves from Ministry custody earlier this morning.

"One of these Magic Thieves, a certain Mary Elizabeth Cattermole, who I was interrogating at the very time, is of _special_ interest to the Muggle Born Registration Commission. I happen to have it on good authority that Mrs. Cattermole and her entire family have fled the country and are presently on their way to, or have already arrived in, the North American Colonies. I have already sent the Director of the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery a demand for the extradition of the Cattermoles for the unforgivable crime of Theft of Magic from a currently unknown True Wizard or Witch, and expect an answer shortly."

"Oh, have you, now . . .?" said Yaxley, in a tone of barely concealed amusement. "And just what do you expect to be the Yanks' reply, then?

"In the recent past, they have not only turned down many similar requests for the extradition of other escaped Magic Thieves, but they have even granted these fugitives "asylum." And to make matters worse, FBS Director Vincent DeMarigny has repeatedly stated that the Magical Congress of the United States of America does not recognize "Theft of Magic" to be a crime, nor does it even believe it to be possible.

"Moreover, the MACUSA continues to question the legitimacy of Pius Thickness as our Minister of Magic and continues to demand - _demand!_ \- to speak with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who the Yanks claim to recognize as the "True" Minister of Magic for the UK! Outrageous!"

"Outrageous, indeed!" said Dolores. "Nevertheless, the moment we determine where the fugitives are staying, apprehending them should pose no serious logistical problems for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Perhaps not from a _logistical_ standpoint, Dolores," conceded Yaxley, who lowered his voice noticeably. "But did not the Dark Lord _himself_ say that he was not ready to antagonize the American Wizarding Community at this time . . . ?"

"They are no threat to us, Yaxley," insisted Umbridge. "Why, the Colonials don't even have enough pureblooded wizards and witches to fill a small private party room at The Leaky Cauldron! Surely you do not mean to imply that the Dark Lord is _afraid_ of a rabble of half-bloods and mudbloods?"

"Need I remind you, Madame Senior Undersecretary, that the Colonials' most powerful wizard, Dr. Stephen Strange, is himself a mu – _muggle_ born wizard who has nonetheless attained the title of _Sorcerer Supreme_?

"The Dark Lord is no fool, Dolores," said Yaxley. "And as he is no fool, he prefers to choose his battles most carefully. But don't worry yourself. The Yanks' day of reckoning for their disrespect will come in due time. But for now, we must keep them believing that we are no threat to their safety and interests so long as they stay out of our affairs. Besides, they still have their hands full with the situation in Maine, do they not?

"So as much as I would _like_ to see the Cattermole mudblood and her blood-traitor husband back in Ministry custody, we must consider _this_ battle to be a lost cause. More to the point are there no _other_ magic thieves _closer_ at hand to bring to Ministry Justice?"

"Not like the _Cattermoles_ , Yaxley!" hissed Umbridge. "You know _why_ I must have them! Just as we both know how _you_ shall benefit when I have them back in custody where they belong."

Yaxley raised an eyebrow. "Aye, Dolores, indeed I do know . . . . Very well, you may continue to track the fugitives' movements and keep me informed when and where they have settled. If I believe that a mission to apprehend them may be carried out with minimal risk, then you will have my full support. And I trust that in return, I will have your . . . usual gratitude . . . ?"

"My usual gratitude and more, Yaxley," said Dolores. "In fact, I am thinking about _doubling_ our usual arrangement in this case; so long as I get what I _want_ . . . ."

Moments later, Dolores Umbridge strode down the corridor to her office. Once there, she plopped down in her chair and picked up the file set in the middle of her desk. It was everything the Ministry had on the Cattermole family. Smiling, Umbridge removed the parchment obtained from St. Mungo's and re-read the healer's evaluation of the Cattermoles' eldest daughter.

Normally, it was Dolores Umbridge's policy to dislike children. In fact, she absolutely _loathed_ them. But in the case of Maisie Cattermole, she would make a most deserved exception. If the results of her evaluation from St. Mungo's are true, then ten year old Maisie could bolster Dolores' pureblooded credentials in ways that even her recently acquired Selwyn family locket _ever_ could . . . .


	2. The Stephens Family

**Chapter 2: The Stephens Family**

Since most American Wizarding families chose to live alongside their muggle neighbors, violations of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy were almost inevitable. This was especially true of young wizards and witches, whose powers were just emerging and who did not know what they were capable of doing until they actually did it. So for American wizards and witches under the age of 13, being arrested by the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery for violations of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was almost seen as a Rite of Passage.

Most of the time these violations were simple and ultimately harmless displays of "wishcraft" or "reflexive magic" performed in reaction to fear or stress. Things like falling off a piece of playground equipment, only to suddenly slow before hitting the ground, or by spontaneously apparating or orbing out of the way of an oncoming car that wasn't seen until it was almost too late. Usually, these minor, reflexive violations could be taken care of quickly and quietly with FBS Obliviators sent to modify the memories of any muggle witnesses to protect the secrecy of the Wizarding World.

But there were _also_ those times when such spontaneous magic was performed in the presence of muggles and people actually got hurt or even killed. In cases like these, the FBS moved in swiftly to heal the wounded and take the perpetrator into custody. Once in custody, the underage wizard or witch would be interrogated to determine whether or not the act of magic in question was truly spontaneous and not a deliberate attempt to do harm.

It was such a case that brought the Stephens family to the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery Headquarters in Salem, Massachusetts, where ten year old Matthew Starr Stephens, son of Adam and Janelle Stephens, was taken into custody for allegedly assaulting three Eighth Grade muggle boys at the end of the last school term by magically causing a hornet's nest to fly at them from a tree a hundred yards away.

Within moments of the attack, FBS agents immediately appeared and took Matthew into custody, where he was questioned extensively by Aurors and evidence was gathered for study by pensieve. Almost six hours later, his parents were contacted to come and pick him up. After being informed of the charges against their son, the Stephenses were told that a final evaluation and decision would be made on Thursday, September 4, 1997.

Now the Stephens family sat at two separate tables in the waiting area. Endora, Samantha, Janelle, and eight-year-old Evie Garland Stephens waited at one table, while Adam and his father, Darrin Stephens (the only muggle in the group,) sat at the other.

"I don't understand," hissed Darrin. "Why won't they let my grandson have a lawyer? What about his _rights_?"

"We don't have much use for lawyers, dad," said Adam. "A wizard or witch who violates Wizarding Law has the "right" to tell the truth when asked by the Aurors and to have it verified by a Legillimens employed by the Bureau. And if the accused is a known Occlumens, they actually go for a Warrant to Soulgaze."

"I don't like the sound of that, son," said Darrin.

"Don't worry, dad. I'm sure the authorities will determine that Matt did not do it on purpose or out of malice. He was just a frightened boy being roughed-up by three older and bigger bullies."

Darrin nodded. "Matt said that those boys pushed him down, called him names, kicked him, and wrecked the Science Fair project that he got an award for. It's a case of self-defense, pure and simple."

"Maybe not so simple, dad," said Adam. "Those boys were walking _away_ from Matt, and were pretty far away from him when that hornet's nest came flying from that tree and crashed on top of them.

"And to make matters worse, the _muggle_ authorities got involved too; from the Federal Bureau of _Investigation_." Adam bit his tongue in frustration. Even growing up living next door to Mr. and Mrs. Kravitz was _nothing_ compared to having FBI Agents nosing around; especially _those_ two FBI Agents. _Many was the wizard or witch who said that if the Statute of Secrecy was ever repealed that they would file a Class-Action Title VII lawsuit against FBI Agents Mulder and Scully for "profiling and harassing" American magic users. And Adam planned to join them if they did . . . ._

Darrin said, "What's the worst that can happen to Matt, son? Do they send kids Matt's age to Mosquito Penitentiary?"

"It's called _Miskatonic_ Penitentiary, dad. And no, they don't have send kids under seventeen there, as far as I know.

"Besides, the _last_ time we were here a few years back, I was up on more _serious_ charges, and I _wasn't_ sent to Miss Penn."

"Thanks to your _grandmother_ ," said Darrin. "Just _don't_ tell her I said that . . . ."

A few years ago, Darrin's Advertising firm McMann, Tate, Stephens, and Wilson was forcibly "acquired" in a hostile takeover by rival firm, Sterling, Cooper, Draper and Pryce. Darrin and Samantha Stephens had lost a lot of money in stock options when that happened. Also, Adam had lost a potential entry-level position with his father's agency; something that was desperately needed when events brewing in the UK and Europe began to have an adverse effect on Adam's and Janelle's magical import/export business.

Adam accompanied his father to the fateful meeting. As rival CEO Donald Draper gloated, (and Uncle Larry had to be taken out of the conference room by paramedics,) Adam admitted that he "lost it." He twitched his nose, casting a spell on Mr. Draper that not only cleansed him of his alcoholism, but made him nauseous in the presence of any alcoholic beverages.

Now it was Adam's turn to gloat as Mr. Draper threw-up in his celebratory Martini in front of his Executive Staff and the "downsized" Executives of the former McMann and Tate. And gloat Adam did, right up until the time he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and heard the words, "Mr. Adam Stephens? I am Agent Solomon Garwin, United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery. Please come along willingly . . . ."

Like all "trials" in the Wizarding world, Adam had the "right to tell the truth" as Agent Garwin asked him about his version of the events leading to the assault against a Mr. Donald Draper; a muggle. Agent Garwin further informed Adam that a Legillimens would be called in to verify his account of the events leading to his arrest.

As in all cases like this, the muggle victim was brought in to testify about the effects Adam's spell would have on his life. He explained to the American Wizengamot that "social drinking" was a necessary part of his business and that Adam Stephens, the son of a Madison Avenue Advertising Executive, most certainly knew this when he cast his spell.

Then abruptly, before the formal hearing against Adam could begin, Mr. Draper decided to "embrace his new-found sobriety," and asked that all charges against Adam Stephens be dropped. Once he had been Obliviated, he was free to leave.

As the Stephens family was leaving, Darrin wondered aloud if his mother-in-law had somehow threatened Mr. Draper . . . .

"I never," Endora had said with a healthy dose of mock indignation. "Threatened to harm or even _curse_ Mr. Donald Draper in any way, whatsoever.

"All I said to Mr. Draper was that if he had plans to press his complaint against Adam that I planned to tell the muggle FBI everything that I know about a certain Mr. Richard Whitman. _That's_ when he agreed to drop the charges of assault against my grandson! Really, Derwood, I wouldn't look a gift unicorn in the mouth, if I were you . . . ."

Darrin shook his head, shaking off the memory. "I'm only sorry that I could not help you get on board at McMann and Tate so you could put that Associates Degree in Business Administration you earned to some use."

"It's alright, dad," said Adam. "Our business may be closed thanks to this stupid Wizarding War. But Janelle and I are managing. She's still working part time at the local Dairy Queen. And the Temp Agency always seems to have work for me. The biggest problem is that I am surrounded by muggles at those jobs, so I can't use any magic to make it easier for me."

Darrin leaned in to his son and passed him something under the table, lowered his voice and said, "There's five hundred dollars in that envelope, son. I know you are too proud to ask. But you have a family to take care of and the world isn't exactly being fair to your family right now."

Adam blushed noticeably. Then he nodded and quickly pocketed the envelope. "T-thanks, dad."

Darrin continued. "Your mom tells me that you will need some _galleons_ soon to get Matt a wand. Please keep this between you and me, but your mom wants to buy Matt his wand. She also said that she would get one for Evie too, when it's her turn – that is, of course, if things don't get better before then."

Adam nodded, both relieved that his children would be getting their wands when they needed them and frustrated that he could not get his children their wands on his own. But right now, almost every galleon that he and Janelle have to their name was frozen in their account at Gringotts Bank in the UK. Their account was frozen, along with all other American accounts, when the UK's Ministry of Magic fell on August 1 and the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery refused to recognize the administration of the new "minister," Pius Thickness.

So A&J Stephens Magical Marketplace was, at least for the moment, out of business. Their business license with the FBS would be up for renewal at the end of the year. And while renewing the existing license would be cheaper and less of a hassle than letting it lapse (and applying for a new one when the war was over and sanity returned,) there seemed to be no end in sight to the insanity coming from the UK.

Adam felt the frustration building up inside him. He told his dad that he needed to stretch his legs and stood to leave for a quick walk when the door to the waiting room opened and a young witch came in.

"Mr. and Mrs. Adam Stephens?" said the witch. "Please come with me. Mr. Graymalkin wants to go over the Bureau's decision and has some recommendations for you and your son to avoid anything like this happening in the future."


	3. The Girl in the Waiting

**Chapter 3: The Girl in the Waiting Room**

When Adam and Janelle Stephens took their seats next to their son, _Agent_ _Graymalkin_ informed them of the Bureau's determination that Matthew Starr Stephens' assault on the three muggle boys at the end of the previous school year was unintentional, and that the Bureau would be closing their file on the incident. Father, mother and son all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Now there are still a few more things that I will need to discuss with your parents, Matthew," said Agent Graymalkin. "You will probably be more comfortable in the waiting room down the hall. Don't worry; this should not take too long."

Matt nodded, relieved that his ordeal was finally over, and got up to leave. As soon as he stepped out of the conference room he suddenly realized that Agent Graymalkin did not say _which_ "waiting room down the hall" he had meant. Was it the one outside the main door where his sister, grandparents and great-grandmother were waiting? Or did he mean the one at the _other_ end of the hall? Matt turned to knock on the door to ask, only to find that it was no longer there because it had transfigured into a part of the hallway wall. Shrugging, Matt decided to go to the room at the other end of the hall to wait for his parents, removing his jacket and tie and loosening his collar as he walked down the long hallway.

Matt pretty much imagined that it would be like all waiting rooms – magical or muggle - that he had been in during his short lifetime when he got there. There would be chairs, tables, snack machines and magazine racks filled with mostly out-of-date magazines and newspapers (though Matt seriously doubted that the _muggle_ waiting rooms included copies of _Witch Weekly_ and _The Towne Scryer_.)

And then Matt saw something that made him wish that he had waited a little longer before removing his coat and tie. Sitting at a table in the far corner of the room was a dark-haired girl about his age. Fortunately, she was so engrossed in the book that she was reading that she did not notice Matt standing in the doorway when he got there.

If the kid at the table had been a boy, it would have been so much easier. A simple, "Hey, Dude, how's it going," would have been all that was needed to start a conversation that would have likely began with what they each did to get themselves hauled in here .

But girls were different. At least, that was the impression that Matt got from the muggle girls in his class. It was hard enough talking to girls (especially the really pretty ones,) even about school stuff. Add to that the fact that he had to be extra careful about what he said and did around them to not reveal the fact that he was a wizard.

Of course, that would not be a problem with _this_ girl; she was undoubtedly a witch. But Matt could not help but notice that she was also a pretty girl, and that she could look up and notice him at any moment and that he was standing in the doorway looking like a slob. Slowly, Matt tried to back away from the door and get back into the hallway without being seen. But he was too late. She looked up and saw him.

Thinking fast, Matt stuffed his tie into his pants pocket and swung his jacket over his shoulder, mimicking the way grownup men sometimes looked in the pictures that he had seen in his dad's "GQ" magazines. To his relief, the move went smoothly; so smoothly that it made Matt wonder if there was any (involuntary) magic involved.

But if the girl was impressed by the move, she did not show it. Her face, pretty that it was, was a blank mask that did not even blink at Matt much less smile at him.

The ball was still in Matt's court. Matt smiled and said, "Hey, uh, how's it going . . . ?"

"How is _what_ going?" replied the girl in an unmistakably British accent, as she looked up from her book.

"W-well, the reason that you are here," said Matt. "I mean, I just got out of _my_ hearing and was cleared of _all_ charges. So . . . what did they get _you_ for?"

"They?" said the girl raising an eyebrow. "Exactly who do you mean by "they?" And not that is any of your business, but I was not "gotten" for anything."

"Oh," said Matt. "Well, for "they" I meant the FBS Aurors, of course." In my case, I got brought in here for doing magic in public. See, there were these three bullies – eighth graders – BIG eighth graders – who were giving me a hard time on my way home from school one day, and I sort of made a . . . well, a _hornet's nest_ land on them."

The girl's face remained expressionless, though her gaze seemed to drill into Matt from across the room. "You sound proud of what you did," the girl said dryly.

"Uh, _no_ , not at all!" said Matt. "But they _did_ start it. I mean, it was _three_ -against-one . . . did I mention that they were in _eighth grade_ and I was in _fourth grade_ at the time. I just started fifth grade this August . . . ."

"Right," sighed the girl. "I am _not_ interested to hear about how you used _magic_ to harm three _muggle_ boys . . . ."

"B-but _they_ started it," protested Matt. "It was three-against-one! The _smallest_ one of them _outweighed_ me by at least thirty pounds! It was self-defense!"

"Oh?" The girl asked. "And were _you_ also stung by these _hornets_ . . . ?"

"Uh, well, no. You see, the bullies had finished whaling on me when I remembered that there was a hornet's nest in a tree about a hundred yards away at the end of the field –"

"So, they were walking _away_ from you, then." It was a statement; not a question. _This girl is worse than the Aurors who grilled me when they first got me here_ , thought Matt.

"Whoa! Hey, I didn't do it on _purpose_!" protested Matt. "The Aurors copied my memory of what happened and watched it in a pensieve and said that what I did was _not_ intentional. So, they let me off with a warning to be more careful with my magic –"

The girl shook in frustration and said, "Look, I _don't_ want to talk about it. In fact, I don't want to talk about _anything_ with _anyone_ , least of all with _you_! I have enough problems of my own, right now, and I would prefer to be let alone. _Please_ go somewhere else, there's a good little boy." The girl sniffed and wiped away a tear before she returned her attention to her book.

"I . . . aw, _whatever_!" said Matt. He turned and strode down the hallway to wait with his sister and grandparents in the other waiting room. But before he got to the end of the hallway, the door to the conference room where his parents were talking with Agent Graymalkin reappeared and opened.

Matt's mom and dad came out with Agent Graymalkin, who was saying, ". . . –artial arts of some kind - like Tae Kwon Do or Kung Fu - might be helpful; not only for your son, but for your daughter as well. If our kids are going to be in school with muggle children, they need to learn how to use their _fists_ instead of their _words_ if trouble comes up.

"In fact, Agents Wednesday Addams and Hadji Quest-Singh are black belt level Judo experts. They teach a children's class right here in the Bureau gym on weekends. They both learned Judo when they were about Matt's age so magic wouldn't be their only means of self-defense. Now, there is a fee for these lessons, but it is charged on a sliding scale . . . ."

Outwardly, Adam Stephens stayed poker-faced and nodded. Inwardly, he bit his tongue so hard that he was sure he would need to gargle with dittany when they got home. True, maybe the lessons themselves would not set them back too much. But using a floo hearth to go from Bonne Terre, Missouri to Salem, Massachusetts every Saturday would be cost prohibitive. But Adam just nodded and said, "We'll discuss this when we get back home."

Janelle was about to comment, but the group was distracted by the sudden appearance of another conference room door on the other side of the hallway. They quickly moved aside, and another FBS Agent came out followed by a young couple wearing Visitor's Passes like they were. The other couple looked slightly older than they were (though with wizards and witches it could be hard to tell.) The woman had short, dark hair. The man accompanying her was taller and had blonde hair and a moustache. And they both wore clothes that looked new, but hopelessly outdated.

Janelle and the other woman looked at each other and their eyes grew wide with recognition. The other witch blinked first, and in a crisp English accent said, "J-Janelle Facillier! Merlin's Beard! I remember you from Hogwarts!"

"I - I remember you, too," said Janelle softly. "Mary Elizabeth . . . ." Janelle swallowed hard. Growing up speaking Southern-Accented American English with lots of Cajun-Creole thrown in; Janelle could never properly pronounce her classmate's last name, (which was of Welsh origins,) no matter how hard she tried. "Mary Elizabeth . . . ."

"Don't worry, Janelle," said Mary Elizabeth with a friendly smile. "My _married name_ is "Cattermole;" and it's spelled just as it sounds.

"How have you been? Oh, it must have been ten years or more!"

"We should _never_ have lost touch with each other," said Janelle nodding, glancing over at Adam. "I'm married, too. It's "Stephens," now. This is my husband, Adam."

Matt watched as his dad offered his hand to the other man with a warm smile. "Hi, I'm Adam Stephens."

"Reginald Cattermole," said the other man as he tentatively accepted Adam's handshake. "Well met, Adam Stephens."

Adam motioned for Matt to come forward. He put his arm around his son's shoulder, and said, "This is our son, Matthew Starr Stephens."

Matt smiled and took the other man's hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir."

"Matthew is a very good name," said Mr. Cattermole nodding warmly. "You know, I don't believe that I have ever heard of anyone named "Starr" before. A-a family name, I take it . . . ?"

Matt winced inwardly at the knowledge that he was actually named for his dad's favorite _fictional character_ on TV (and that his sister was named after his father's _second_ favorite fictional character from TV.) Fortunately, thank G-d; few people remembered that kitschy, short-lived Science Fiction show from the early 1980's. Moreover, "Matthew Starr" was the alien boy's assumed, _Earth_ name. His mother had told him that she had put her foot down when his dad actually considered naming him "E'Hawke;" the boys name on his home world of far-off Quadris.

But while Matt knew that he dodged a virtual _death-curse_ with that near-miss thanks to his mom, he could also understand his father's reasoning for bestowing those names on him and his little sister. Both Matthew "E'Hawke" Starr from "The Powers of Matthew Starr," and Evie Garland from "Out of this World," were young people of extra-terrestrial origins with special powers – powers that had to be kept secret from their none-the-wiser classmates. And the names, as intended, served as constant reminders.

But not wanting to bring all that up, Matt sidestepped Mr. Cattermole's questions by turning to his wife, and saying, "Were you and my mom friends at school, Ma'am?"

"That we were," said Mary Elizabeth. "We were both _muggle-born_ , you see. And some of the other students were giving me some . . . trouble. Your mum came to my aid, and helped show me how to stand up to them."

Slightly embarrassed, Janelle said, "Aw, what are friends for . . . ?" Then Janelle took on a more serious tone, and asked, "So, what brings you two to The States?" But from the news that had been coming out of the UK in recent months, Janelle could readily guess the answer.

Mary Elizabeth Cattermole wiped a tear from her eye, and said, "Oh, Janelle, we're . . . we're _War Refugees_! I was almost sent off to _Azkaban_ for the "crime" of "Theft of Magic." We came to America for asylum from . . . from . . . ," Mary Elizabeth lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, "from Y-You-Know-Who . . . . Oh, Janelle, if it wasn't for those three brave youngsters . . . .

"I . . . I guess I did not learn as much about how to stand up to bullies from you as I thought that I had learned."

Matt watched as his mom hugged the other woman, and said, "There's a big difference between school bullies and adult thugs. But you're safe now, Mary - you and your family." She then turned to the Auror who was with the Cattermoles, and said, "Is there _anything_ that we can do to help?"

Adam nodded, and added, "You know, I really, _really_ hate bullies and thugs . . . ."

The Auror smiled and said, "As a matter of fact, there just might be something that you can do."

Adam and Janelle nodded, and then asked Matt to go to the rest of the family in the waiting room, and to ask Grandma Sam or Great Grandma Endora to take him and his sister back home to Bonne Terre, Missouri and get them off to bed.

"We have a lot to talk about, son," said Janelle. "And we could be home late . . . ."

 _Author's Note_ _: "Though "_ _The Powers of Matthew Starr_ _" from 1982 was ranked #22 on the list of_ _TV Guide_ _'s "50 Worst TV Shows of All Time" in 2002, one may readily imagine how a young wizard like Adam Stephens – who was going to an otherwise all-muggle school – could easily relate to the show's titular character's situation._


	4. New Neighbors are Coming

**Chapter 4: New Neighbors are Coming**

Matt's and Evie's Great Grandmother Endora got them back to their family home (and until recently, their family business,) in rural Bonne Terre, Missouri, with a flourish of her arms and the sound of a chime. She got them a quick snack and then had them wash up and get straight to bed. No television she said; it was late.

Of course, neither Matt nor his sister wanted to go to sleep just yet - they wanted to wait for mom and dad to get back from Salem and tell them about mom's old friend from Hogwarts. But Endora insisted – they both had school the next day – and they both knew that it was useless to argue with their formidable Great Grandmother. Being more tired than they realized, the Stephens siblings both fell asleep within fifteen minutes of their heads hitting their pillows.

When Matt woke up the next morning, he heard voices and other noises coming from the backyard. Looking out the window of his room to investigate, he saw that a large tent had been pitched in the yard and that several men and women were bringing furniture and boxes inside. Under normal circumstances, there was no way that even a tent that size could hold all those boxes, much less the queen-size bed that some of the men were currently moving inside. But considering the fact that they were _levitating_ the bed through the flap, Matt knew that the circumstances were probably normal enough if one was a wizard or a witch.

Barefoot and still in his pajamas, Matt ran out to get a closer look, realizing that his sister Evie was right behind him, also still in her bedclothes. The Stephens children got out through the sliding screen door to the backyard so quickly that they were just in time to see the end of the bed go through into the tent. Peeking through the flap, they saw the bed being moved into one corner of a space with more square footage than their own house had; or so it seemed, since there were no inner walls set up yet to divide the large space into separate rooms. Off to the side, Matt saw rolled-up canvas and prefab 2"x4" frames that would no doubt form the interior walls when the movers were done getting everything else in place. And that was not all that Matt and Evie noticed. In addition to the queen bed the movers had just brought inside, there were three other, single-size beds already in the tent.

Matt and Evie were so engrossed in taking everything in that they did not notice their Aunt Tabitha standing behind them. "Well, what do you think, kids? Pretty awesome, huh?"

"Aunt Tabbie!" said Matt and Evie simultaneously as they turned around. They immediately hugged their aunt, and then they began firing off a barrage of questions.

"What is all this for?"

"What does this mean?"

"Are some people going to stay with us? Is it mom's old friend from Hogwarts?"

"They must be wizards! No way would _muggles_ be allowed inside a tent like this!"

"They got kids our age, right? That's why there are three smaller beds!"

Tabitha laughed. "Hold on, you two! I know that you both have a _million_ questions. But to get them answered, you will need to go back inside the house and get dressed and have breakfast. You r mom and dad have something very important to tell you before the school bus comes to get you. I know this is way cool; a tent that's bigger inside than out. But right now, we are in the movers' way, so we all need to leave immediately."

Tabitha twitched her nose, orbing her nephew and niece back inside, where they saw their mom and dad talking with a tall, regal-looking witch with long, jet-black hair who wearing a classic, black Gothic dress. Though both Matt and Evie had seen Gomez and Morticia Addams many times – they were regular customers of their parent's business when they still _had_ a business – the Stephens Siblings had never met the famous Auror Wednesday Addams in-person, but they knew of her by reputation.

Wednesday smiled at Matt and Evie. But before either of them could say anything, their mom repeated their aunt's instructions to get dressed and come to the table as soon as possible. This they did, immediately scurrying to their rooms, dressing so fast that they beat their best Christmas Morning record by several minutes.

When both children got to the table and sat at their places, their father formally introduced Agent Addams, and said, "Kids, your mother and I have something to tell you. We know that you two have a lot of questions, but if you are patient and hear us out, most of them should be answered by the time you have eaten and are ready to leave for school."

As soon as Matt and Evie sat at their places, their mom set a plate of savory _grillades and grits_ with a side of _pain perdu_ and a large glass of milk before them, and added, "Hopefully, this should not take too long. But if it does and you miss the bus, one of us will drive you to school. And if we are really running late, Aunt Tabitha will get you to school by side-along apparation."

"Why don't we just _skip_ school today?" suggested Matt before taking a mouthful of grits and stealing another glance at the activity outside. "I mean, this looks _really_ important, and you might need us, here, to help out!"

"Nice try, young man," said Janelle dryly. "But we have a lot of things to do, and they will be more difficult if you two are underfoot. You _will_ go to school today. Now, may we please have your undivided attention." It was a statement, not a question, much less a request.

Both children nodded, and Adam continued, "Last night at Matt's hearing, your mom and I met a family that came over from England; Reginald and Mary Cattermole. Your mom went to Hogwarts with Mary, so we talked for a little while."

Matt said, "That's why you had Evie and me go home with Greatgran Endora. I fell asleep after nine-thirty, and you still were not back yet."

"We had a lot to discuss," said Janelle. "And please, no more comments or questions until we are finished. Oh, and Matt, please remember to say "Evie and I," from now on."

Matt rolled his eyes impatiently and groaned. _Why do parents always do stuff like that?_ But his parents ignored his minor impudence and Janelle continued, "The Cattermoles had just _escaped_ from England, where Mary was on "trial" for "stealing magic from a true wizard or witch." She's muggle-born, like me. And ever since . . . "What's-His-Face" and his gang came to power over there, being muggle-born is the worst possible "crime" that one can commit.

"Fortunately, she and her husband, who worked at the UK's Ministry of Magic –" Evie shot up her hand as though she were in school. Janelle sighed, and said, "Yes, Evie?"

"The Ministry of Magic is England's Federal Bureau of Sorcery, isn't that right, mom?"

Before Janelle could reply, Agent Addams said, "Actually, dear, it is more like the Magical Congress of the United States of America – MACUSA; at least it was, at one time." She took a dainty sip of coffee from her cup and continued. "But the _legitimate_ representatives of the UK's Wizarding Community were _forced out_ last month when their Ministry of Magic was taken over by Pureblood Supremacists and their sympathizers. And ever since then they have made it a priority to persecute muggle-born wizards and witches and their families at every opportunity; even if they have to _make_ the opportunities, themselves . . . ."

Both Matt and Evie nodded, hanging on every word Agent Addams said. Along with the Peasgoods and the Halliwells, the Addamses were very well-known Leading Citizens in the American Wizarding Community. In fact, they were nothing less than legendary . . . .

While other American Wizarding families did everything they could to maintain a low profile in the mostly muggle communities where they lived, the Addamses liked to "hide in plain sight." And while their encounters with their muggle neighbors stopped just short of violating the Statute of Secrecy, it was a well-known fact that local muggles would drive or walk a little faster whenever they passed the Addams' home at 0001 Cemetery Lane.

A few weeks earlier, Agent Addams' parents, Gomez and Morticia, along with her Uncle Fester, came over to buy up _everything_ that Adam and Janelle still had left for sale on their nearly empty shelves. It was the last time the Stephens children saw their mom and dad make a sale. And it was an experience that the Stephens children would not soon forget.

Matt had been playing catch with Evie when he saw the Addamses drive up in a 1930's vintage _Duesenberg Limousine driven by their servant; an imposing flesh-golem they called "Lurch."_ Moments later, their parents had come outside to meet them. The Addamses were concerned by events playing-out in the UK, and as a precaution, they wanted to stock their shelves with as much hard-to-find magical ingredients as possible. And by that time, they were all getting hard to find.

"These idiots don't like muggle-borns," said Gomez as he shook his head while puffing on an expensive Cuban cigar. "But the next down on their "to-be-hated list" are those they consider to be "blood traitors." And if they want to consider us as blood-traitors, I only hope that we can do all we can to not disappoint them!"

Morticia smiled and added, "Our family motto is "Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc." Do you children know what that means?" When Matt and Evie shook their heads, Morticia leaned over them and said, "We gladly feast on those who would subdue us." Both Matt and Evie nodded, suitably impressed.

"You got that right, 'Tish," said Gomez. "And we may just have an all-you-can-eat Death Eater buffet delivered to our door any day now. I just want to be ready for them when they come."

"Well, _I'm_ not worried, Gomez!" blustered Fester Addams, who wore an old WW1 army helmet and carried an even older blunderbuss. "If that _riff-raff_ tries to come after us, I'll shoot 'em in the back! And that goes double for that m***** f***** who calls himself their Dark Lord!"

Then things started to get weird. The adults all turned pale (which was quite an achievement for the Addamses,) and Matt and Evie began laughing up a storm the way that any self-respecting children under twelve would do when an adult swore in their presence.

And then things had gotten _really_ weird. Fester began to apologize profusely. Morticia said that the way Fester "pronounced it" may not have attracted "his" attention, since the "t" at the end should have been silent. Gomez said that Adam and his family were "welcome" to move in with them, where it might be safer if things went from bad to worse. Morticia disagreed, saying that it would put the Stephenses in more danger to live with known (and proud of it) "blood traitors."

In the end, an abashed Fester "hired" Matt and Evie to carry what the Addamses bought to the trunk of their Limousine, "paying" the kids $50.00 each.

"Fester, this isn't something that _money_ can fix . . . ." said Gomez shaking his head seriously, and then adding that if Adam and Janelle "needed anything," that they should not hesitate to call him. And then they were gone, their car disapparating with a loud backfire as it went down the road . . . .

Tabitha said, "Wednesday and I are currently assigned to resettle the families who have managed to escape from "What's-His-Face" and his goons in the UK. Sadly, we don't have a lot of work to do. Not many have been able to escape from the UK after the Ministry fell due to the Death Eaters' Snatcher teams patrolling the boarders."

Evie said, "Aunt Tabby, why does everyone call the bad-guys' leader "What's-His-Face" or "You-Know-Who?" Don't we know his _real_ name?"

"We do . . . ," said Tabitha cautiously. "But this self-styled Dark Lord has put a spell on his name called a "Taboo." This means that if anyone says his name, he will know _who_ said it and _where_ they are _when_ they said it. So to avoid triggering the taboo in the UK, they call him, "You-Know-Who." Over here, we like to call him "What's-His-Face."

"Ours works on _two_ levels," added Agent Adams with a devious smile. "If you ever saw what he looks like, you'll be wondering _what his face_ is supposed to be, too."

Then Matt said, "We got a kid in my class whose family was originally from Bosnia. Are the Cattermoles War Refugees, like Amira's family?"

Tabitha said, "They were when they first got here; before they were granted asylum by the MACUSA. But now that that process is finished, they are officially guests of the American Wizarding Community. They are free to stay here for as long as they want, or return to the UK when their Wizarding Community gets its sanity back."

Adam picked up where his big sister left off. "You know kids, it may be best to just think of the Cattermole family as our new _neighbors_ , and nothing else. Not "refugees." Not "asylum seekers. Our new neighbors." They seemed pretty dazed when we first met them. I can't even begin to imagine what they had to go through to get here safely.

"So for now we really have to be careful what we say to them, right sis?" Tabitha nodded. If nothing else, growing up as the children of a witch and a muggle advertising executive, she and Adam knew from an early age that words have _unimaginable_ power; whether you used them to cast a spell or to convince someone that they should buy Brand X instead of Brand Y.

Evie said, "Those three small beds we saw the movers taking into the tent. Our new neighbors have kids, don't they? Kids our age?"

Janelle nodded. "They have two girls and a boy. One of the girls is your age, Evie; she's eight." That made Evie jump with glee and say, "YESSSS!" Janelle continued, "Their eldest is your age, Matt. And the youngest is six."

"Is their _son_ the one who is my age?" said Matt hopefully.

"No, they have a ten-year-old daughter," said Janelle, who noticed her son's disappointment and quickly added, "But she is a _witch_ , Matt. You won't have to keep any secrets from her and when the two of you get home from school, you can be yourselves."

Adam said, "And their six year old son would probably like having an older boy around to act like a kind of honorary big brother to pal around with; especially since he has _two_ older sisters . . . ."

Matt nodded. "When are they coming here?"

Aunt Tabitha said, "They should be here between five and six this evening."

Matt turned to his mom and dad, and said, "You _gotta_ let me stay home from school, today, or sign me out early! I need to finish my tree house so I can show it to them when they get here!"

"And take down the "No Girls Allowed" sign," added Evie dryly.

"That sign doesn't mean _you_ , sis," said Matt. "I just put it there for, you know . . . _tradition_. The new girls will be welcome up there, too!"

"You are going to school, today," said Adam with finality. "But I'll tell you what. I'll finish cutting the wood for the railings while you are at school. I'll pre-drill the holes for the bolts, and levitate them up to the platform. Then all you have to do is bolt them in place once you get back from school. That should give you plenty of time to finish your tree house and get cleaned up to meet and greet the Cattermoles."

Matt and Evie finished breakfast, got their lunches (a thermos of warm gumbo and a slice of fresh, crusty bread,) and went out to go to the bus stop at the end of their long driveway. Their dad left too, walking with them, and said, "I have some work to do on the car we are selling, son. I just want to detail and wax Kowalski one more time before I have to bring her to the buyer day after tomorrow. I wish we didn't have to sell her, but . . . ."

Matt signed with resigned disappointment. "Kowalski" was the name of dad's and mom's white 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T that they had just bought a few years earlier when things were better. About six months earlier, they had sold their 1956 Chevy Nomad. When Kowalski was gone, they would only have three cars left: dad's two-toned blue 1971 Buick "Boat Tail" Riviera; mom's yellow and black 1978 AMC Pacer with the crest of Hufflepuff House painted on the hood (that had been enchanted to look like something else when muggles looked at it;) and their gold 1975 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser Wagon, which was probably the car that he would be taught to drive in.

It wasn't that Matt had anything against the Vista Cruiser. He just sort of hoped that he got to drive something a bit . . . older; something that was already a classic when he got his license, instead of something that would have to age into classic status like his mom's ride.

For better or for worse, American Wizards were Car Crazy, and old classic cars were even more of a status symbol for them than for their muggle counterparts. The older cars were easy to maintain and less susceptible to the effects of stray magic than the modern, computer-laden cars. And the lousy gas mileage was not a problem if you could wave a wand or twitch a nose and turn water into gasoline. Sure, the FBS collected the _taxes_ for every gallon of water transfigured that muggles regularly paid at the pump; but a gallon of gas still cost a wizard or witch far less than a muggle would have to pay.

Matt had half-hoped that Kowalski would have been _his_ car, some day. But Matt also knew that dad's and mom's business was in trouble thanks to the stupid Death Eaters in the UK, and said nothing in protest.

When they got to the end of the driveway, Adam Stephens hugged his son and daughter, and wished them a good day at school before going back to the house and the old side building that they converted into the family garage. Moments later, the school bus came, and brother and sister each sat in their respective seats as the bus took them to Bonne Terre Elementary.


	5. Meeting Maisie Cattermole

**Chapter 5: Meeting Maisie Cattermole**

Matt rode the bus to school, lost in thought. He had been so worried about the outcome of his FBS hearing that he could not concentrate on studying for the math test that he had later today. He had originally planned to study when they had got home from Salem the night before. But Matt did not count on his mom meeting an old friend from school, much less that she and her family would be coming to stay with them.

Not that this was a bad thing. Ever since Matt found out that his family was not like those of his friends at school, he knew that he had to be _very_ careful about whatever he said and did when he was in public. It would be nice, for a change, to have some kids around that he and Evie did not have to be careful around and keep any secrets from.

"Hey, Matt," came a familiar voice from the kid in the seat in front of him. "You ready to take on Miss McConnell's class in Dodge-Ball at recess?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, Forrest," said Matt. The other boy nodded, and then turned back to talk with the boy sitting next to him, Bobby Jackson.

Matt sighed. He had known Forrest Cook ever since First Grade, and for years they were _inseparable_ at school. Matt had been a regular over at the Cook's house for a while, even staying overnight for several sleepovers. But years of not being able to have friends come over to his house – where they might inadvertently see magic performed – had taken their toll. Matt suspected that the only reason Forrest even spoke with him on the bus just now was that he was pretty good at Dodge-Ball, Softball, and Soccer in the playground at recess. But now, most of Matt's friends had become simply classmates.

Matt looked over at where Evie was sitting with her friends Julie and Carol. The three girls were having an animated conversation about whatever it was that girls talked about. _Enjoy it while you can, Sis,_ thought Matt. _You've got maybe a year or two more before you are in the same boat as me._ In the seat in front of him, Forrest and Bobby were talking about the Cardinals – a conversation that they made absolutely no attempt to include Matt in.

Matt tried to remind himself that next year would be different. He was originally supposed to go to Hogwarts – his mom's old school in Scotland – instead of Bonne Terre Middle School for Sixth Grade. And even with "The War" throwing a monkey-wrench into those plans, Matt knew that he would now be going to either Ilvermorny or Randolph Carter to study magic, and that he could make friends at either one of those schools; friends that could actually come over to his house to visit on a moment's notice, without any problem at all.

It was not that Matt did not know any other kids his age who were from Wizarding Families. Occasionally dad's and mom's customers would bring their kids along with them – especially on weekends - and they could play while the adults came for business and stayed a bit longer for company.

When things had been better, there was even a Wizarding Summer Camp in New Salem, Colorado, that Matt and his sister attended the past few years. There, for two glorious weeks in July, they could play with other kids their age without any fear of doing anything they shouldn't.

At first, Matt had been worried that he and Evie would not be able to go to camp this year because their parents might not be able to afford it. But dad and mom assured them that they would be going (Matt later found out that Grandma Samantha said that she would pay for them to attend.)

But due to security concerns because of The War, MACUSA ordered the camp to remain closed for the summer of 1996 because they could not spare any Aurors for security. What with The Death Eaters in the UK and Europe _and_ keeping an eye on Storybrooke - the Incursion from the Enchanted Realms that landed in Maine back in '83 - Matt knew that the FBS Aurors and Whitelighters were spread out pretty thin as it was.

In the seat in front of him, Forrest was showing Bobby the autographed Baseball Card of Ozzie Smith that he had just recently got (making no attempt to show Matt in the seat behind them.)

 _Big deal_ , thought Matt with a touch of bitterness – even though he knew that it _was_ a big deal – _I bet that neither of you has a Chocolate Frog card from the 1950's of Galen Bradwarden; the muggle-born wizard who wasted the dragon Vermithrax over a thousand years ago. True, it was not autographed, but it was a collectors' item all the same . . . ._

Matt prided himself on his Chocolate Frog Card collection. His parents carried them, along with Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans and Licorice Wands; a main reason why parents would bring their kids with them to A&J Stephens Magical Marketplace. Matt even had a little side business of his own, trading and selling Chocolate Frog Cards of Famous Wizards and Witches.

 _But so what_ , thought Matt. It's not like he could show Forrest or Bobby his Chocolate Frog Card collection. For starters, even if Matt did try to show them, the cards were enchanted to show something else if a muggle looked at them.

That said, Matt's collection was pretty comprehensive; especially his side-collection of Famous Wizards and Witches who were _muggle born_ , like Galen Bradwarden. Right now, the only card he lacked in this group was one of the famous Wand for Hire Judith Fairweather*; the only muggle born to have ever been sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts over five hundred years ago. He was saving the second place on Page One in his binder for that card – which dated to the 1920's – ahead of Galen Bradwarden that was currently in space three.

The empty first place in his Famous Muggle Born Binder was being reserved for Mom; Janelle Stephens – nee Facillier – that Matt and Evie were sure was only a matter of time before it came out.

Matt felt his spirits rise slightly. Maybe one of the Cattermole kids would have a Judith Fairweather card in their collection that they might be willing to part with . . . .

The day at school went better than Matt expected. First, Matt got an 81% on his Math Test. Not as good as he could usually get, but under the circumstances, not too bad, either. Given his hearing the night before and the pending arrival of their new neighbors, Matt was certain that his parents would let him off with an, "We expect you to do better, next time, young man," if they even brought it up at all.

The Dodge-Ball game against Miss McConnell's class at recess also went well. Matt managed to take-out both Brian Lundy and David Denver – both heavy hitters - before Jim Kroll got him; making Matt a big part of reason his class won the game.

Matt also saw that Evie was talking with her friends again on the ride home. He could hear them talking about Justin (or, as they said, " _Jus_ -tinnnnnnn!") on the Mickey Mouse Club. Matt sighed. Last week it had been " _Ry_ -annnnnn!" Occasionally, the girls would look over at Matt and giggle for no apparent reason the way girls do. And in the seat in front of him, Forrest was showing his autographed Ozzie Smith card to Bobby again without asking Matt if he wanted to take a look. So much for helping to win the Dodge-Ball game.

But Matt had other things on his mind and was not about to waste any time wondering what his sister and her friends were laughing about or even about Forrest's dumb autographed Ozzie Smith card. Matthew Starr Stephens had a tree house to finish before the Cattermole family arrived, and he planned out every step in detail that he would need to do to finish it. So when the bus stopped and let him and Evie out, Matt covered the distance from the bus to his door so quickly that he couldn't have gotten their sooner if he had apparated.

Matt's mom opened the door to greet him, and Matt shot past, saying "Hi, mom! Got a low "B" on my math test. Gotta finish my tree house now. Bye!" Janelle had no chance to say anything as her son shot by and into his room. Once there, Matt pulled off his shirt and undershirt, kicked off his school shoes and swapped his good pants for an old pair of cutoff jeans that he had worn the day before and not bothered to throw into the dirty clothes hamper. Throwing on a Cardinals Baseball cap as an afterthought, he made a beeline to his tree house where, sure enough, dad had everything ready to go for him.

Exhausted from getting ready, Matt sat down on the tree house platform for a few moments to rest as he admired the view it offered. From his vantage point, he could see the Cattermole's tent in the back yard. Off to the side, he could catch an occasional glimpse of his dad working on the brilliant white Dodge Challenger R/T that would not be theirs for very much longer. Evie was nowhere to be seen, but was hopefully keeping mom occupied.

Then Matt went to work bolting railing together. It was still warm for late autumn, and Matt was already working up a sweat as he bolted the uprights to the platform and then started in on the railing pieces themselves.

Not that railing was absolutely necessary. Even though Matt did fall out of his tree house once a few months ago, involuntary, reflexive magic had kicked-in to bring him down gently. He even tried jumping out a few times to test himself, landing softly each time, until his mom saw him and forbade him to 'tempt fate" anymore. "Magic is a shield; not a sword!" she had told him.

Because everything was so well planned, it was taking Matt less time than he imagined it would. With the rails added to two sides of the platform, Matt decided to take a quick break, and let his legs dangle over the side. And that is when he heard a girl's voice saying, "Hello, Matthew? Is anyone up there? Your mum asked me to let you know that you need to come back to the house right away."

The voice did not belong to Evie. For one thing, the girl's voice had a crisp, British Accent. Matt had not seen anyone arrive from his vantage point twelve feet up in a tree, but it had to mean that the Cattermole family had arrived earlier than expected. Worse, the voice sounded vaguely familiar. Cautiously, Matt peered down to see the source of the voice and swallowed hard. It was a girl his age - a pretty girl with dark hair, who was wearing an old-fashioned dress; the same girl he had seen the day before in the FBS waiting room at Salem.

Without much emotion, the girl said, "You."

"M-Me . . . ?" squeaked Matt, feeling very self-conscious as the girl stared up at the bottoms of his dirty feet while he wore nothing but old cut-offs and a baseball cap. Matt quickly stood up, leaning against the railing. He then said, "Hi, I'm Matt. Matthew Starr Stephens. S-so, what's your name . . . ?"

"Cattermole," said the girl evenly. "Maisie Cattermole. And your mum says that she wants you to come back to the house _right now_."

Matt was about to reply when he saw three copperhead snakes coming out of the woods and making a beeline for Maisie Cattermole, hissing loud enough Matt to hear even from twelve feet up. Maisie turned the rapidly approaching snakes, her eyes went wide and she gasped in horror.

Wasting no time, Matt jumped from the tree house platform, landing between Maisie and the approaching snakes, making a perfect three-point landing with his feet and left hand. Twitching his nose, he pointed his free right hand at the snakes and loudly said, "AWAY!" A burst of magic, and all three snakes flew back into the woods from where they came from.

"NO!" said Maisie.

"It's alright, Maisie!" said Matt as he grabbed her hand and pulled her as he ran towards the house. "You're safe now!" Maisie tried to say something back, but could not as Matt pulled her up the porch steps and into the Stephenses living room where his parents and sister were talking with the adults that Matt had seen the night before in Salem. Matt was also aware of a girl about Evie's age and a boy about six, whose eyes went wide when they saw him burst into the house.

All conversation stopped abruptly and all eyes were on Matt and Maisie. Suddenly, Matt felt cold to the point that goosebumps were now covering his arms as he wrapped them around his bare chest. "M-mom, dad . . . three snakes – copperheads – coming at Maisie fast! I s-stopped them from . . . from . . . b-biting her . . . !"

"The snakes were most certainly _not_ trying to bite me," said Maisie evenly. "They were coming to _tell_ me that _this little boy_ keeps throwing rocks and sticks at them and shooting them with his BB gun - whatever that is - and they wanted me to ask him to _stop it_ , already!"

Matt then realized that the room suddenly got even colder and nobody spoke for what seemed like several minutes. Then, with as much dignity as he could summon, Mr. Cattermole then said, "If you would like us to find another place to stay –"

"NO!" said Adam Stephens quickly. "I mean, that's not what I meant! You are more than welcome to stay here!"

Another long silence followed. Matt now felt himself shivering, and to the relief of everyone present, broke the uncomfortable silence when he said, "D-dad, why is t-the A/C set so low?" Almost as soon as he spoke, Matt realized that he could not hear the air conditioner running, but it was so _cold_ inside!

"The, ah, A/C is not on, son," said Adam. "Mr. Cattermole here works – _worked_ at the Ministry of Magic in the Maintenance Department. Environmental Control, and stuff like that. He cast a spell to cool off the inside of our house to about 68 degrees. For once, we should get some sleep tonight without having to worry about facing a high electric bill."

"B-but does it h-have to be _this_ cold?" said Matt, feeling even colder as Maisie fixed him with her icy gaze that would freeze the Snow Queen herself. "W-what did I do, now . . . ?"

"Some of us happen to be quite comfortable," said Maisie evenly. "Maybe if you did not go traipsing about dressed like you were Mowgli, you wouldn't be so cold."

"Who's Mowgli?" said Matt.

"Proof that you don't read much," said Maisie dryly.

Reginald and Mary Elizabeth Cattermole were about to say something, but before they could, Janelle said, "Alright, listen, son. The Cattermoles have come a long way to get here and they are tired and need to get settled in.

"Matt, you need to get cleaned up and dressed. Now. We'll all be eating dinner in less than an hour, and I want you cleaned and dressed, and that means _shoes_ as well as socks, young man!"

When Ellie and Maisie's sister began to giggle, Janelle added, "And Mrs. Cattermole and I can use your help in the kitchen, girls." She then turned to Maisie, and added, "Your help would be welcome, too, Maisie."

"I'm not hungry, Missus Stephens," said Maisie. "I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

"Maisie," said Mary Elizabeth. "We are guests, here!"

"We shouldn't even be here!" said Maisie. Both of her parents gasped, but Maisie continued before they could comment. "We should be fighting those bastards instead of running from them!" Before anyone could say or do anything else, Maisie, fighting back tears, bolted out of the door and around the house to the tent in the Stephenses' back yard.

Evie giggled, turned to Ellie Cattermole, and said, "Your big sister owes a dollar to the swear-jar!" Ellie giggled, too.

Mary Elizabeth Cattermole started to stammer an apology. But Janelle softly suggested that she check in on her daughter while Evie and Ellie joined her in the kitchen. Reginald also excused himself, to take their son, Alfred, to the tent to get settled in, leaving Matt and his father in the Stephenses living room.

"D-dad . . . ?" said Matt. "What just happened . . . ?"

Adam said, "You heard your mom, sport. We'll be eating, soon. Get cleaned up and get some clothes on."

"W-what's all this about Maisie being able to talk to snakes . . . ?"

Adam put his hands on his son's shoulders and knelt a bit so they would be face-to-face, and said, "It's nothing to worry about, Matthew. Some wizards and witches are born with the ability to talk to snakes. It is a rare talent – even your Greatgran Endora can't do it. But not another word about it; _especially_ in front of our guests. Do you understand me, son?" Matt started to say something, but before he could get the words out, his father repeated, " _Do you understand me, Matthew Starr Stephens?_ " Matt nodded emphatically, and his father said, "Good. Now get ready for dinner, and not another word about it!"

With nothing else that he could do, Matt nodded again, and went to take a shower and change.

 _*For more on Judith Fairweather, please refer to the fanfic_ " **Starnlicht** " _by the Marquis-Carabas, on this site. And thanks to the Marquis-Carabas for permitting my to give Ms. Fairweather a shout-out in my story._


	6. Dinner with the New Neighbors

**Chapter 6: Dinner with the New Neighbors**

Matt finished his shower and dressed, putting on his dark blue dress pants, white button-down shirt and his best pair of shoes. It was the same outfit that he wore to his FBS Hearing a few days ago (though he decided not to put on the clip-on tie and matching jacket – _that_ would be too much.)

Normally this outfit was reserved going to church or visiting relatives. But as Matt showered, he thought that he would make another attempt to become friends with Maisie Cattermole. Girls were funny about wanting boys to look clean, and Matt wanted to look more presentable than he did when she last saw him all sweaty and dirty from working on his tree house. True, Maisie was not a wizard. But having a _witch_ his age living next door was better than nothing.

Matt reflected that Evie was lucky that Ellie Cattermole was a witch who was her age, and for all of their sibling rivalry, he was happy for his sister's good luck. Evie may be a witch, but she was also Matt's sister and even though she was a girl, sisters – especially little sisters - were _different_ from regular girls. Matt knew that Evie and Ellie could hang out together without any problems. Evie could probably even introduce Ellie to Julie and Carol, and the four of them would get along just fine.

As for Alfred Cattermole, he was a bit young to do any accidental, reflexive magic, so he could visit any friends he made at school without any problems (though bringing muggle friends from school over to his enchanted tent for a visit would definitely be out.) And it might be neat to have a younger wizard around that would look up to Matt as kind of an older cousin, or maybe even as a kind of honorary big brother. It was hard enough growing up with one younger sister, (even though Matt not only loved but actually _liked_ Evie - most of the time, anyway.) But Matt could not imagine what it must be like to have to grow up with two _older_ sisters; especially with one like Maisie. Matt made up his mind that he would be extra nice to Alfred to make him feel welcome no matter what. It was his sacred duty as an older boy.

But Matt would have preferred a wizard his own age that he could talk with and, for better or for worse, Maisie Cattermole was the only other ten-year-old mage within two hundred miles. They did not have to talk to each other at school. Being subject to unending taunts of "Matt and Maisie sittin' in a tree . . . ," on the playground would be _worse_ than being left-out and ignored. But when they got off the bus, things could be . . . different. Matt had a million questions about what it must be like to live in England, both the Magical and Muggle places. And Matt suspected that when Maisie wasn't being so stuck-up, that she could talk really cute with that accent of hers . . . .

After checking his hair in the mirror one more time, Matt took a deep breath, and then went to the family table, hoping for the best.

As Matt approached the table, he saw that Evie and Ellie were already setting up the plates, silverware and napkins. When his mom saw him coming, she immediately directed Matt to start carrying out the plates of food that she had worked all day to prepare.

For the main course, Janelle had prepared a simple jambalaya with chicken and andouille sausage, with the classic "holy trinity" of onions, celery and green bell peppers that the Stephenses grew in a small garden in their back yard. They also grew some tomatoes that joined the savory mixture that was made even more savory with the addition of traditional Cajun and Creole spices. Matt's mom also made a lot of rice to go with it, both seasoned and plain.

Next, Matt carried out a large salad bowl while his sister and her new BFF brought out baskets of his mom's cornbread, still warn from the oven. Matt knew that his mom was an expert when it came to getting all the food to the table hot and ready at the same time; a talent that she says is magic that even _muggles_ where she grew up did all the time.

As Janelle and Mary Elizabeth came out of the kitchen, Matt heard his mom telling her friend that, "Most people eat to live, Mary. But back in _N'awlins_ where I come from, everybody lives to eat!"

"Oh, it all smells so _wonderful_ , Janelle!" said Mary Elizabeth.

"My mom is the _best_ cook in the whole wide _world_ , Mrs. Cattermole!" said Matt with a wide ten-year-old boy's smile.

"Well, son," said Janelle. "I hope you will _still_ think so after tonight's meal. I toned-down the amount of spices that I normally use." She then turned apologetically to Mary Elizabeth. "I, uh, didn't know how much _heat_ you and your family are used to. We like it pretty spicy, but if you want more heat, you can add some Louisiana Hot Sauce to give it more of a kick!

Mary Elizabeth smiled. "That was very considerate of you, Jan, but you didn't have to do that on our account. There is an Indian restaurant near where we live in Evesham that Reg and I are quite fond of. We order the extra-spicy Madras and Vindaloo all the time. So does Maisie, for that matter.

"Jan, when . . . things get . . . better, we'd _love_ to have you and your children over to try some."

"We'd love to try it, Mary," said Janelle. "You know, I've never tried Indian food before, it will be something to look forward to." She then turned to her son, and added, "Oh, and Matt, I'm glad to see that you actually got thoroughly cleaned up and dressed nicely for dinner. I see that you even put on _shoes_ as well as socks, without even being asked, for a change!

"Now please go to the garage and let your father and Mr. Cattermole know that dinner is ready. He'd be showin' off our cars – the ones we got left, anyway - by now, and Alfred is undoubtedly with him. " Matt nodded and immediately went out the door to the garage.

When Matt had left, Janelle told Evie and Ellie to wash up and take their seats. Mary Elizabeth then said she was going to their tent to try and coax Maisie to come to the table.

Before she left, Janelle said, "If she does not want to come out, I can make her a plate for you to take to her."

"Jan, I'm terribly sorry for the way that Maisie is acting," said Mary Elizabeth apologetically. "Maisie is normally a _very_ friendly girl. But over the past few weeks . . . ."

"Don't worry about it," said Janelle. She glanced at the table where Evie and Ellie were already sitting and where Adam, Matt and Mr. Cattermole were coming in to join them. "Poor Maisie must be having a rougher time of it than your other kids."

Mary nodded solemnly. While she and her husband were terribly shaken by the events of the past few weeks leading up to her "hearing" at the Muggle Born Registration Commission, and their escape to America, they still managed to 'Keep Calm and Carry On,' as was expected of adults. Ellie and Alfred, too young to fully realise the implications of what was happening and why they were here, were seeing this as some kind of adventure. But Maisie, at age 10, knew all too well why they had to leave so abruptly, and had become quite sullen as a result.

While the two families waited for Mary to come back, hopefully with their eldest daughter, the kids and adults engaged in small talk.

"I really appreciate your help, Reg," said Adam. "I'll be meeting the buyer at the Hardees parking lot in town this Saturday morning to make the sale. If you follow me in Kowalski, I'll be driving Jan's Pacer. Then after putting the check in the bank, we need to make a quick stop off at Walmart and fill Jan's and Mary's list, so we will need the extra space in back of Jan's Pacer that my Buick doesn't have."

"Well, if you're certain," said Reg. "Driving "Kowalski" won't present a problem for me. I can put a mirror charm on myself, so driving on the wrong side of the road while sitting in the passenger's front seat shouldn't be a cause for worry. And, ah, "Kowalski" _does_ have a proper manual transmission . . . .

"But, Adam, are you certain that you wouldn't you like to drive Kowalski one last time before you sell her? Your wife's Pacer is an interesting looking car, and even if it does have an automatic transmission, I have never driven a car with a, what did you call it? A "two-rotor-Wankel engine," before?"

"It's a _very_ smooth running engine," said Adam nodding. "But Jan's car is a bit . . . tricky to operate, if you are not used to her, mainly because of the "magical upgrades."

"The hood art showing the crest of Hufflepuff House is enchanted – only one of us can see it. Muggles see something else. But also, I had to do some magic on the engine _itself_ so the rotor seals would last longer. That's the Wankel engine's Achilles Heel; at least for the first and second generation Wankels. The current ones are better – the inside of the rotor housing and the seals are plated with adamantium, and don't wear at all. But those are too new, and I won't have _my_ wife being seen in public driving a _late model_ car, if I can help it."

Then out of the blue, Janelle said, "Adam, have you returned Mrs. Martindale's call, yet?"

"I, ah, no, but I'll get to it."

"When?"

"Look, Jan, the money we'll get from selling Kowalski should last us for a couple of months at least, if not to the end of the year. We can call the _Shmoo People_ , then."

"I'll call her," said Janelle dryly. "Mary and I will speak with her tomorrow morning."

Adam shook his head emphatically. "Look, Jan –"

"Don't you, "look, Jan," _me_ , Adam. This is _important_ , not only for us, but for our new neighbors as well. Besides, our families need to apply separately, anyway, and it would be nice to have our deliveries scheduled in place _before_ we run out of the money that Kowalski brings in."

"Oh, what _ever_ . . . ," said Adam shaking his head with a defeated sigh.

Janelle's own sigh was one of frustration. She loved her husband. But sometimes it took a _witch_ to do what a _wizard_ was reluctant to do out of foolish, male pride. A sideways sympathetic glance from Mary confirmed that Janelle's friend understood this dynamic all too well.

An awkward, silent moment followed, and was ended only to be replaced with another when Mary came back with Maisie. Mary indicated an empty chair to her daughter, and said, "Please be seated." And from the tone of Mary's voice, everyone knew that it was not a request.

Without a word, Maisie sat directly opposite Matt, and fixed him with a neutral stare. After Janelle led a quick prayer of thanks, she began serving the food. To Matt's ears, the silence was deafening. Normally, dinner time at the Stephenses was a time to get caught up with each other, but the Cattermoles seemed to like eating in silence. At least, some of them did.

Abruptly, Alfred turned to Matt, and said, "Can you do any magic yet, Matthew?"

Before Matt could say anything, he heard Mrs. Cattermole quietly admonishing her son, saying, "Alfred, let your meat stop your mouth."

Matt said, "No, Mrs. Cattermole, it's alright." He then turned to Alfred, and said, "Not too much, Alfred. I don't even have a wand, yet. I'll get one next year. I hope we can find a really cool one that likes me; oak with a core of piasa bird tail feathers would be neat. But for now, I can jump out of my tree house and land without getting hurt; kind of like a Muggle super hero. I can also do stuff that I didn't know I could do until I do it."

Then Maisie said quietly, "Like setting a nest of hornets on defenseless muggle boys?"

"Hey, I _told_ you before that they were _three big eighth graders_ attacking _me_!" said Matt. "And I didn't mean to do it! You're looking at me like I'm Baron _Freakin'_ Mordo, or someone!"

Before any of the adults could remark, Maisie abruptly rose from her seat, saying, "I'm _not_ hungry, mum. _Please_ let me go back to my room in the tent!"

"Don't be rude, Maisie!" snapped Mary. "Now sit down and finish your dinner! Mrs. Stephens worked hard on it all day!" But Maisie burst into tears and ran out the door to the back yard.

Both Reg and Mary started to rise, but Janelle said, "If she's not ready, I'll make her a plate for you to take to her when you go home for the evening." The rest of the meal, ending with a freshly baked pecan pie and coffee for the adults and milk for the children, went on in silence.

When the meal was officially over, Evie said, "Mom, dad, can I show Ellie some episodes of the Mickey Mouse Club on the VCR before bedtime?"

"I guess so," said Janelle as Adam nodded. "But Ellie's mom and dad will probably her want to turn in early."

"Then can Ellie stay for a _sleepover_ , tonight, please?" said Evie hopefully.

"Oh, please mum!" said Ellie. "Evie and I have become such good friends!"

"Tomorrow night, maybe," said Adam. "You and your brother still have school, tomorrow."

"Maybe we should stay home, tomorrow," said Matt hopefully. "I mean, I need to show Alfred around and stuff."

"Alfred will be here when you come home from school," said Janelle. "Besides, it will be pitch dark outside in another few minutes."

"Why don't you two boys watch the Mickey Mouse Club with us?" said Evie smiling at her brother mischievously. Then she turned to Ellie and added with a giggle, "Matt has a crush on Christina!" She had pronounced it, "Chris- _teeennnnaaaa!_ "

"I DO _NOT_!" Protested Matt a bit too much.

"Oh," said Evie smiling even wider. "Then is it _Kerri_ this week? Or is it _Britney's_ turn . . . ?"

"MOM! DAD!"

Adam said, "Go watch your show, girls." Both girls giggled and they went to the TV in the living room to set up the VCR.

"What's the Mickey Mouse Club?" said Alfred.

"Girl stuff," said Matt dismissively. Then Matt brightened a bit, and added, "Come with me. We'll set up my Hot Wheels track! I know you'll like that!"

"What's Hot Wheels?" said Alfred.

"Like Matchbox, but American," said Matt.

"I had to leave all of my Matchbox cars at our flat when we left home," said Alfred sadly.

"It's OK," said Matt as the two boys went off to play. "I've got lots of them! I'll give you some of mine, for _keeps_!"

When all the kids were gone, Reg and Mary apologized for Maisie's behaviour once again. And once again, Adam and Janelle told them that no apology was necessary.

"We want to thank you again for letting us stay with you," said Reg. Mary nodded, trying to fight back tears.

"It must have been horrible," said Janelle nodding. "But you are absolutely safe here, with us."

"Besides," Adam said, "I've heard that What's-His-Face does not want to make trouble for American wizards and witches right now. And he would be a fool if he did. He has to know about Dr. Strange, to say nothing of my Grandma Endora."

"Well to be absolutely honest," said Reg. "You-Know-Who is the least of our worries at the moment."

"You see," said Mary. "There is this witch named . . . Umbridge . . . ." She lowered her voice when she said the last word. "She is the Head of the 'Muggle Born Registration Commission,' and she . . . she . . . ."

"You are safe from her, too," said Janelle reassuringly.

Mary managed a wan smile. "Oh, I do hope so, Janelle. I do hope so . . . ."

After a few more hours of conversation, the Cattermoles retired to their tent for the night and the Stephenses went to bed. Whatever else, they all knew that tomorrow would be a big day.


	7. Umbridge's Gambit

**Chapter 7: Umbridge's Gambit**

Yaxley sat at his desk as he read a parchment that Dolores Umbridge had given to him moments before. Frowning incredulously, Yaxley held up the parchment, and said, "Are you _barking mad_ , Dolores? Have you even _read_ this intelligence report before you gave it to me?"

"Of course I have read it, Yaxley," said Umbridge evenly. "It is the location of the Cattermole fugitives and the Colonial Wizarding family who flout our laws by hosting them.

"Now what are you going to do about it? Surely the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the Ministry of Magic does not plan to do _nothing_ when presented with the location of a known magic thief and her blood traitor accomplice?"

Yaxley perused the parchment a second time, then met Umbridge's stare and said, "Adam and Janelle Stephens. Janelle Stephens, nee Facilier, is a mudblood - that much is true – but she is one of those _rare_ mudbloods who can _prove_ her magical lineage. As for her husband Adam, his _father_ may be a filthy muggle, but his mother is _Samantha_ , whose own parents are none other than Maurice and Endora - _Endora_! Do you really _want_ Endora for an _enemy_ , Dolores? Her reputation is too well known!

"And in any event, has not our Dark Lord explicitly stated that he has no desire to antagonize the Colonials at this time? Face it, Dolores. The Cattermoles are out of our reach, for now."

"Please take a look at these papers, and think again, Yaxley." Umbridge removed two more papers from the folder marked "Cattermole, Mary Elizabeth," and handed it to Yaxley.

These were muggle papers, not parchment, showing photographs of about twenty different children on each page. On each page, a photo of a child was circled in red ink. On one page was a boy about ten. On the other was a girl about eight. The children's multiethnic features made them quite attractive, but their images were frozen in place as they wore unnatural smiles; _muggle photographs_. Yaxley noticed that the pages had been taken from something called the Bonne Terre Elementary School Yearbook.

"These are the children the Stephenses are _claiming_ to be their own. You should know that I have shown them to Mrs. Zabini and she has expressed great interest in the boy to be a younger brother for her son, Blaise." Umbridge took a snippet of parchment from her pink purse. "And this is her offer. What say you _now_ , Yaxley . . . ?"

A short time later, Dolores Umbridge was back in her office, where Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson, late of the Inquisitorial Squad that she had established during her time at Hogwarts, were waiting for her to return from her meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Before Umbridge could sit down, Pansy Parkinson said, "What did the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement say, Madame Undersecretary? Has the word been given?"

"It has indeed, Miss Parkinson," said Umbridge, who sat down and motioned for Pansy to do the same.

"And well it should have been, Madame Undersecretary," said Pansy. "There is no way that an important mission like this would be turned down. We must think of the poor children, who are the true victims here!"

"Indeed they are, Miss Parkinson. Indeed they are . . . ." Umbridge went over the plan of action that she had come up with; a plan that was as brilliant as it was elegant, if she did say so herself. A series of Floo Hops from Canada to America, followed by a jaunt in a muggle cab for the remaining distance should be enough to take those mudbloods and blood-traitors off-guard. When Umbridge had finished laying out her plan, both Vincent and Pansy had to restrain themselves from clapping.

"Now remember Miss Parkinson and Mr. Crabbe," admonished Umbridge. "These children are _not_ to be harmed in any way. They will undoubtedly be frightened and disoriented; especially when they are told the truth about their "parents," and this cannot be helped. But as their memories have been modified, we cannot expect their cooperation in this matter.

"In any event, there are a lot of last-minute details that need to be taken care of before we leave for the North American Colonies. This will not be easy. But I know that I am able to trust the both of you on this frankly dangerous mission deep inside what must be considered enemy territory. And I needn't remind you that any contact with muggles over there is to be avoided at all costs. As you both are no doubt aware, the barbaric American Wizengamot still imposes the _death penalty_ on wizards and witches who kill muggles with magic. If caught, you will most certainly be tried as adults. So if either of you wants to reconsider, you may do so now."

Crabbe snorted, and blustered, "I'm not afraid of those Colonial mudbloods!"

"We're doing this for those poor children, how can we refuse?" said Pansy Parkinson. "Just imagine what it must be like to have your _real_ parents murdered by mudbloods and blood-traitors, and then given new names and memories! Even though we are unable to change their pasts, at least we can give them better futures with respectable, pureblood families!

"And while we are on the subject, Madame Undersecretary, did you have a chance to read the, ah, letter that I gave you from _my_ parents?"

"Indeed I have, Miss Parkinson," said Umbridge. "And you may tell them that they may rest assured that I find their request to be most reasonable." Dolores Umbridge smiled. The risks would be well worth the outcome. At long last she would get what she wanted . . . .

The tent pitched in the Stephens' back yard that the Cattermole family now called home was comfortable enough; especially after Reg enchanted it to stay at a constant 22 degrees Celsius on the inside and to keep the humidity at a reasonable level. Even so, Mary Elizabeth Cattermole and her younger daughter and son spent most of the day in the Stephens' kitchen and living area socializing with Janelle, while Reg and Adam Stephens retreated to the garage. The two wizards said they were putting the final touches on the car that the Stephenses were getting ready for sale, and no doubt they were. But the ladies also knew that the men also wanted some time to themselves; especially Adam, who had not spent so much time in the company of another wizard in ages.

So for much of the day, Mary kept company with Janelle Stephens in the kitchen while Ellie and Alfred played in the living room as they waited for Matt and Evie to come home from school. Alfred played with the Hot Wheels cars that Matt had given him the night before, and Ellie was dressing the Barbie Doll that Evie had given her. All of the Cattermole children's own toys had to be left behind at their home at 27 Chislehurst Gardens. Sadly, Maisie was still in self-imposed isolation in her room in the tent, and had to be coaxed out whenever it was time to get something to eat.

"Don't get too comfortable with your extended Summer Holiday," said Mary to her children. "The American Federal Bureau of Sorcery will have your papers ready in another few days or so. Then you will be joining Matt and Evie at the local muggle school."

"We can't wait, mum!" said Ellie as her little brother nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Another adventure awaited them at the American muggle elementary school down the road.

Mary, who was having a cup of (really good) coffee with Janelle as they took a break from general housework and preparing dinner, turned to her friend and said, "I only hope that Maisie will be out of her funk by the time their muggle papers come. All she does ever since we came here is stay in her room in our tent all day, reading." And added, with a sigh, "Though I suppose that it could be worse . . . ."

A knock at the front door interrupted Mary's train of thought. Janelle waived her wand, and then the door opened. Adam and Reg came in, followed by a casually dressed witch in her mid-twenties. Both wizards were levitating boxes containing bottles of milk and other groceries while the witch was levitating several crates of eggs topped by wrapped stick of butter.

"Why, hello Jenny!" said Janelle, grinning ear to ear. "You're right on time!"

" _Food Stamps for wizards,"_ said Adam under his breath, immediately glad that nobody heard him. It was especially galling to Adam when he thought that a little over a year ago, he and Janelle had made a substantial donation to the fund that helps wizards and witches in need to cover items that shmoon could _not_ produce. At the time, it was absolutely _inconceivable_ that they would be in need of help themselves a year later . . . .

"Special delivery!" said the young witch pleasantly. "Compliments of my shmoo friends!"

"Thank you, Jenny," said Janelle. "And I gotta say that you got here not a moment too soon! In case you haven't heard, our family just grew by five! Now, I see that you already met Reg Cattermole. Let me introduce you to his wife, Mary, and their children Ellie and Alfred.

"Mary, kids, this is Mrs. Jenny Martindale. She went to the Randolph Carter School of Magic, and currently works at the local Shmoo Preserve."

"What's a _shmoo_ , then?" said Ellie.

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "You've never heard of the _shmoon_ , young lady?" Jenny canvassed the room, looking at each Cattermole in turn. All but Mary shook their heads.

"Janelle and I learned all about shmoon in our Care of Magical Creatures class at Hogwarts," said Mary. "Professor Silvanus Kettleburn told us all about them."

"But what _is_ a shmoo, mum?" said Alfred. Before his mother could reply, Jenny removed her wand from her belt and with a swish and flick an animated image of a creature unlike any the Cattermole children had ever seen appeared before them like a muggle hologram.

The Cattermole children gasped in awe and childish delight at the image of the odd, but undeniably cute creature. It looked like nothing less than a living "bowling pin" with short, stubby legs and no arms. But its most notable feature was its friendly, whiskered face that smiled at the Cattermole children as valentine-like hearts magically appeared over its head.

"Wonderful creatures," said Jenny affectionately. "Absolutely wonderful. Shmoon are very friendly and helpful. In fact, they are the ones who _made_ all the milk, eggs, and butter, here."

"How did they do that, then?" said Ellie.

"How do you think?" said Jenny smiling. "The shmoon _produced_ everything here! Even the bottles and the crates the milk and eggs came in, as well as the waxed paper the butter comes wrapped in; as much as one could ever need!"

"Can we see one for real, mummy?" said Alfred.

"Oh, could we, Mrs. Martindale?" added Ellie.

Jenny raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, that _depends_ , children . . . . Do you two like hamburgers and fried chicken and baked catfish . . . ?"

"Oh, yes!" said Ellie and Alfred simultaneously.

"Well, I'm _very_ sorry, children," said Jenny. "You know, _I've_ never even seen one in person, myself. I only work at the Shmoo Preserve as a Caseworker and delivery person. To be allowed _anywhere_ near a shmoo, a wizard or witch must be a committed _vegan_. Do you know what that means?" Both children shrugged, and Jenny continued. "It means that you don't eat meat or even _want_ to eat meat of any kind, ever.

"You see, children, shmoon are so . . . _accommodating_ that if you are anywhere near one and are hungry for broiled steak, fried chicken, or anything like that, a shmoo will happily cook itself to satisfy your craving."

"But what if we eat _before_ we see them . . . ," persisted Ellie, who was suddenly overcome with the strong desire to pet one of those cute, little creatures.

"It won't matter, El," said a quiet voice from the sliding screen door at the other side of the room. "Shmoon are _very_ sensitive telepaths. The _slightest_ , stray thought will make them joyfully throw themselves into the nearest frying pan . . . ."

"Maisie . . . ," said Mary, surprised to see her that her eldest daughter finally decided to join them.

Jenny Martindale smiled warmly at the Cattermole's eldest daughter. "You know, I _thought_ that I heard Jan say that your mom had _three_ children. And your name is 'Maisie?' Believe it or not, that is my aunt's name, too. She's my father's sister. And like her, you know about shmoon! She's the one who taught me everything that I know about them!"

"I-I just came here for some more of Missus Stephens' iced tea," said Maisie, almost apologetically. "I've never had tea on ice like hers, before.

"I read about the shmoo in the latest edition of Scamander's book on magical creatures," said Maisie. "It's remarkable that the White Council has classified them as "XXXX Creatures," as friendly as they are . . . .

Jenny shrugged. "Oh, it isn't _too_ hard to believe, Maisie. The shmoo almost got loose once, about fifty years ago. That was in a small muggle town in Kentucky called Dogpatch. The FBS had a very hard time keeping the situation under control. If the shmoon had gotten out of that town, it would not have taken them too long to lay waste to muggle economies all over the world.

"So, Maisie, are you and your sister and brother looking forward to going to school with the Stephens kids?"

The room cooled noticeably, and it had nothing to do with Reg's spell. Maisie looked down at her feet, mumbled a goodbye, and swiftly disappeared out the back door, sliding it closed behind her.

"W-what did I say . . . ?" said Jenny.


	8. Girl Talk

**Chapter 8: Girl Talk**

Maisie Cattermole returned to her room in the family tent, sat on her bed, and went back to reading Rolf Scamander's current edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Moments later, her reading was interrupted by a knock on her door which, though made of canvass like the rest of the tent, had been enchanted to sound like a wooden door when knocked.

Maisie hoped that it was not mum coming to scold her for being rude to their guest. But, wanting to get whatever it was over with as soon as possible, she immediately got up to answer the door. Maisie was somewhat surprised to see that it was not her mum or Mrs. Stephens or even one of her siblings. Standing at the open door was Jenny Martindale, who was holding two glasses; one with iced tea, and the other with what looked like rich chocolate milk.

"Hello, Maisie," said Jenny with a friendly smile. "You said that you came to the house for some of Mrs. Stephens' iced tea, but forgot it when you left so quickly."

Despite Maisie's first impulse to tell her to "please go away," she nodded and asked Mrs. Martindale to come in. There was something about the young witch that Maisie found friendly, or at the very least, non-threatening. Jenny Martindale had a pretty face, framed by shoulder-length black hair. In contrast to Maisie's simple dress, Jenny wore jeans, a blouse and sandals. A mobile phone was strapped to her belt on the other side of where she wore her wand.

"May I join you, Maisie?" said Jenny gently, nodding to the space on the bed next to where Maisie was sitting. Maisie shrugged a shoulder, and Jenny sat down, still holding the glasses. "I brought you a glass of iced tea, like you wanted. But as a fellow shmoo-enthusiast, I was hoping that you could give me your opinion on something else, first.

"Recently, the shmoon in our care have been producing some _chocolate_ milk. Personally, I think that it is the best chocolate milk that I have ever tasted. And I'd kind of like the opinion of someone who has some knowledge of shmoon . . . ." Before Maisie could object, Jenny handed her the glass.

Maisie took a tentative sip, gave a small smile, and took another, longer swallow. "It _is_ very good chocolate milk, Mrs. Martindale. The best I ever had!"

"Oh, please just call me Jenny; Mrs. Martindale is my mother-in-law."

"A-alright . . . _Jenny_ . . . ," said Maisie, unused to addressing an adult by their first name.

"I've been told that after one _tiny_ sip of chocolate shmoo milk that a person could walk through a room full of dementors and not even get a single goose-bump!"

"My mum was almost _taken_ by d-dementors," said Maisie softly. "Before she was rescued from that Muggle Born Registration Commission hearing . . . ."

"Your mother told me that," said Jenny nodding. "So I gave her an extra-large mug of shmoo chocolate milk; that should take care of any residual aftereffects. _Everyone_ is drinking a glass. There is even more for Matt and Evie when they get home from school."

At the mention of Matt's name, Maisie snorted derisively.

"Now, what was _that_ for?" said Jenny.

"Matthew Stephens is a mean, immature little boy."

"Oh, I know that isn't so, Maisie," said Jenny sympathetically. "I've known Matthew Stephens since he was your brother's age. I used to come here about twice a month to buy potions and stuff, and he and his sister were always friendly and well behaved."

"He's a big show-off, and he is _cruel_ to animals!" insisted Maisie. "The local copperhead snakes have told me that he always throws sticks and rocks at them and shoots at them with his "BB Gun!"

"The _snakes_ told you?" said Jenny, seemingly unfazed by Maisie's statement. "So, you're a Parselmouth." It was a statement, not a question. "Well, that's _interesting_ . . . . But please, go on . . . ."

"And _worse_ , mum told me that Matthew Stephens is ever so _glad_ that I am here just so he will have a kid his age to talk with! Never mind that we are here because some _evil people_ want to _kill us_ because my mum is muggle born! Never mind that we barely made it out of England together and alive with nothing but the clothes on our backs!"

"Well, it _must_ be difficult to grow up as a wizard or a witch and only have muggle friends," said Jenny. "You would _always_ have to be very careful what you say or do around them; you could never just "be yourself." And having friends over after school would be a major undertaking. So I guess I can understand how . . . _hopeful_ Matt must have felt when he heard that someone his age from Our World was coming to stay with his family, regardless of the reason.

"But that is just a guess on my part. I _never_ experienced anything like that. There were plenty of witches and wizards my age at school where I grew up. But I do know what it is like to have to leave the home you love at a moment's notice . . . ."

Maisie looked up at Jenny. "You had to run from _Death Eaters_ , too? But I didn't think that there were _any_ Death Eaters here. Or was it the . . . the _Second Salemers_ that I have heard so much about here in the States?"

"There aren't any Death Eaters here," said Jenny. "We don't have enough "Purebloods" in the USA to fill a Greyhound bus. And it wasn't the SS, either." Jenny smiled ironically as she reflected that - with most American Wizarding families having some muggle members - that the shorthand reference to the Second Salemers – "The SS" – actually worked on _two_ levels . . . .

Jenny continued, "Maisie, I was born in _Collinsport, Maine_. Most of the residents of Collinsport are muggles, but a lot of Wizarding families live there – or used to live there. I suppose it was kind of like Godric's Hollow in the UK. Or so I have been told; I've never been there, myself.

"Anyway, I was about your age when I had to leave Collinsport. I had just gone to bed and had been asleep for a few hours, when my mom and dad woke me and my little brother. They told us that the FBS and MACUSA had issued an Emergency Evacuation Order for all Wizards and Witches, and said that we had to leave Collinsport _immediately_. There was little time to pack, and that _absolutely_ no magic was allowed until we were hundreds of miles away from Maine. We had to jump into the car and leave as fast as we could. . . .

"I'll never forget _that_ day. It was October 22, 1983."

Maisie's eyes widened. _Everyone_ in the Wizarding World knew the significance of _that_ date. Older wizards and witches could even tell you _exactly_ what they were doing on that day and time when, on October 22, 1983 at 8:15 pm, the largest incursion ever from the Enchanted Realms - now known to be an unplottable town called "Storybrooke" - abruptly slammed through the veil and appeared on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States, setting off alarms all the way up to the White Council.

Magical monitoring facilities in the US and Canada that had been set up to detect incursions from the Enchanted Realms (as well as attempted Death Eater infiltration into North America during the First Wizarding War,) went completely haywire. Enchanted maps of the Eastern Seaboard at these facilities flickered, and went completely dark when the Incursion happened. Then they became blank sheets of parchment. Then, they all displayed the same, enigmatic message:

"Somewhere horrible. Absolutely Horrible. A place where the only happy ending . . . _will be mine_!"

Jenny shivered a bit, and continued. "But despite all the bells and whistles that the Maine Incursion set off in the Wizarding World; there wasn't so much as a blip in the muggle world. Not so much as a stalled car or a burst of static on the radio near the Incursion.

"Anyway, _who_ ever or _what_ ever is hiding behind the enchantments surrounding the Maine Incursion was careful not to tip their hand to the muggles, but they were apparently _unconcerned_ about alerting the Wizarding World to their presence. The American magical authorities think - and the White Council agrees - that this means that the invaders may not think that there is _any_ magic in our world to pose a threat to them, and that it might be best to let them go on thinking this.

"If worse comes to worse, _our_ wizards and witches could end up being our world's ace-in-the-hole, should the invaders prove to be hostile. So MACUSA issued the Evacuation Order within hours of the Maine Incursion. And by the early morning of October 23, 1983, Maine had truly become a land without magic. And though it was a controversial decision at the time, most American wizards and witches now think that they did the right thing.

"But, Maisie, all that meant _nothing_ to a ten year old witch who had to abruptly leave everything and everyone that she knew and loved behind because _something_ happened beyond her control or understanding, hoping that the time she may return to her home will not be too far off . . . .

"And here we are, Maisie. Fourteen years later, and we _still_ don't have any idea what Storybrooke is, why it is here, or what the person from the Enchanted Realms who is apparently responsible – a powerful witch named Regina Mills – even _wants_ . . . ."

"That's horrible," said Maisie. "What did you do . . .?"

"Pretty much what you are doing now," said Jenny wistfully. "At first, I got angry and wanted to stay in Maine and fight whoever or whatever came through from the Enchanted Realms. While we were staying at the Displaced Wizard's Center, my friends and I liked to play "Aurors and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." We pretended that we were on a mission into the Maine Incursion to fight them and drive them back to where they came from. I imagined that we would all fight them, together. Not just mages, but also this world's Mutants, Meta-Humans, and even Muggles in tanks and jet fighters. But then . . . ."

Jenny paused to remember a boy named Owen Flynn and how she and her people let him down when he needed them the most; a boy who was now a man who hated all magic and those that could perform it - and was prepared to do _anything_ to achieve those ends . . . .

Jenny continued. "Then I came to accept the situation. I made new friends; both magical and muggle. I went away to start Seventh Grade at the Randolph Carter School of Magic, and made even more friends. I even reconnected with some of my old friends that I knew from Collinsport. Eventually, I chose a career that would let me help others who were going through hard times.

"You know, right after we were settled in a new home; one not too far from here, in University City, we had to apply for help from the Shmoo Preserve, too . . . .

"I guess what I am trying to say is that, it _does_ get better. But _only_ if you want it to get better and make the effort to . . . ."

Before Jenny could say another word, her cell phone rang. Jenny looked at her phone and frowned: only one bar. "I have to go outside to answer this - there is too much magic in this tent, and it's jamming my cell phone's signal. It's a miracle that I am getting this call at all, in here. "

Maisie followed Jenny out of the tent as she spoke on her mobile phone. "Magnus did _what_?! Where did _she_ find shmoon . . . ? Well, you can tell _that_ narrow-minded, _rhymes-with-witch_ that we'll be sending someone right over to her so-called "Sanctuary," and that if so much as _one_ of those poor shmoon throws itself into a frying pan because one of her so-called "abnormals" gets a craving for . . . ."

After a few more words were exchanged, Jenny returned her cell phone to its pouch, turned to Maisie and said, "Sorry, Maisie, but I _really_ gotta go, now! Something of an emergency wrapped in a misunderstanding with a certain Dr. Helen Magnus who is being her typical, deliberately obtuse self . . . ."

Jenny climbed into her '53 Studebaker Starlight Coupe. "Listen, Maisie," said Jenny as she started the engine. "All you need to feel better is already in you. But however long it takes for you to tap into it, whatever you do until you find it, _please_ try to go easy on poor Matt. As the only wizard in a school full of muggle kids, he has issues of his own to work out. And it seems to me that the both of you could use a new friend."

As Jenny drove away, Maisie could see the school bus bringing Matt and Evie home, coming down the road toward the house. _Maybe Jenny is right_ , thought Maisie. _But I'm not ready yet._

Maisie gave a quick glance to the garage and saw her father looking hopefully back at her. She managed a quick wave, and immediately headed back to her room in the tent and back to her book. Back to her glasses of chocolate shmoo milk and iced tea, hoping for some more alone time. But when she got there, she saw that she had more visitors.

"Greetingsssss," said one of the two copperhead snakes curled on her bed. "We are desssssperately in need of your servicesssss as an interpreter . . . ."


	9. The Calm Before the Storm

**Chapter 9: The Calm Before the Storm**

After waving goodbye to Maisie, Adam Stephens and Reginald Cattermole returned to finishing the "final touches" on the white 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T 440 Magnum that Adam affectionately called "Kowalski." Though Adam insisted the car ran fine, he wanted it to be in top shape when they met the person who would be buying the car on Saturday morning.

"Besides, Reg," said Adam sardonically. "What else am I going to do with a 1970 Challenger tune-up kit the day after tomorrow?" Reg shrugged, and Adam continued. "Anyway, the buyer wants to meet with us around 7:00 am at the Hardees off of Highway 67. I'll be driving Janelle's Pacer, and you'll follow me in Kowalski."

"I'll be glad to help," said Reg. "But I do have one question, though. Why did you name your car "Kowalski?" Then, for the next twenty minutes, Reginald Cattermole got a private review of a 25 year old movie called "Vanishing Point."

"After seeing "Vanishing Point," I just _had_ to have a car just like Barry Newman drove in that movie. I'll be sorry to see her go. You know, Reg, when we go to fill the gals' shopping list after getting paid for the car, maybe we could pick up a six pack for us. Then after our wives and kids go to sleep, we can watch "Vanishing Point" on the VCR."

Reginald Cattermole, who had grown up almost entirely within the Wizarding part of London, was amazed at the emphasis American Wizards put on the ownership of that quintessential muggle artifact; the automobile. Until he met and courted Mary Elizabeth, he had never even driven a car before. But Mary insisted that he obtain a car and learn how to drive it. If nothing else, it would make a better impression on her parents when he formally asked for her hand in marriage.

So Reg obtained a used Vauxhall and with Mary's help, obtained his license to drive. Nevertheless, it seemed like a waste to him. Who needed an automobile when one had a broomstick and access to the floo network? And many wizards felt the same. On the other hand, Arthur Weasley at the Ministry owned an old Ford Anglia, and even enchanted it to fly.

But here in the Colonies, wizards and witches had become enamoured with the idea of owning an automobile (or more accurately, _automobiles_ ,) as a status symbol, or at the very least, a statement about themselves. And even after selling the Dodge, the Stephenses would still be left with _three_ cars for _two_ drivers. Adam's '71 Buick, Janelle's '78 Pacer, and their '75 Vista Cruiser wagon. _No doubt_ , thought Reg, _all of them acquired during better times._

Adam told Reg that wanted other cars, too. A 1967 Chevrolet Corvair; a 1972 Ford Torino ("Just like the one on "Starsky and Hutch;") and a 1959 Chevrolet Nomad Wagon were on his list, but would have to be forgotten if "things" did not improve soon.

"They're all gas-guzzlers, Reg," admitted Adam. "But since water may be transfigured into gasoline pretty easily, that's not too much of a problem. We're currently paying about forty cents a gallon to the FBS to cover the cost of the taxes that muggle drivers pay at the pump. And let me tell you, the records keeping part is a real hassle.

"But the main thing is that these older cars are more resistant to stray magic than the newer cars, what with all the computers they load them up with. I know of one witch who has a 1995 Saturn, and she can't even drive around the block without her "check engine" light coming on for no reason at all.

"But yeah, Reg, the rule of thumb here is that the older the car, the wealthier the wizard or witch who drives it. You should see some of the cars that Gomez and Morticia Addams have." Then, more seriously, Adam added, "Just keep your eyes open for a maroon '37 Cord Phaeton. The wizard who drives it, Thaddeus Sanderson, is the Grand Master of the Illuminated Brethren of the Ebon Night. Also, FYI, his son Kale drives a blue '48 Tucker; one with the ultra-rare turbine engine."

"I've heard of the Illuminated Brethren of the Ebon Night," said Reg. "They believe that wizards and witches should be the rulers of mankind because muggles can't be trusted to rule."

Before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy became law, many muggle rulers had wizards and witches as advisors. King Arthur had Merlin. Pharaoh Ramses had Jannes and Jambres. But traditionally, mages were not rulers. Groups like the Illuminated Brethren claimed that their only goal was to save humanity from itself, and they recruited by tapping into the frustration that many wizards and witches felt at having power, but being unable to use it, for good or ill. And they were known for their hard-sell recruitment drives.

"My family is luckier than most," said Adam as he replaced the air filter on the Challenger with a new one. "My Grandma Endora told them to leave us alone. Even so, I still get some literature from the Sandersons from time to time. They do – or rather, once did - a lot of mail-order from our business, and when they would send in an order form, they always threw in a pamphlet and a membership form, but that was the extent of it.

"We also get material from the Magical Sons of the Confederacy every now and then because Janelle is from Louisiana. At first it surprised her that a group with _that_ kind of name would be trying to recruit an African American woman and her Yankee husband. She still has a hard time understanding that ethnicity in the Wizarding World is a bit different than it is in the Muggle world. For that matter, "Wizard" is practically an ethnicity on its own . . . ."

Adam rolled his eyes. Janelle had once told him that if she had a quarter for every time someone in the Muggle world called her "The "N" Word," that she could take the family out to dinner at McDonalds. But that if she got a quarter for every time someone called her "The "M-B" Word" at Hogwarts (and not always by someone in a green and silver necktie,) that she could take them out to Red Lobster in the '65 Mustang she bought with the excess.

"What people like the Sandersons _really_ want," said Adam as he closed Kowalski's hood, "is to set themselves up in style as Nobility, with people like you and me to do the grunt work and keep the muggle "serfs" in line for them. As for what a world ruled by wizards and witches would look like, let's just say that you don't see mobs of muggles trying to emigrate to Latveria . . . ."

Adam sighed as he wiped off his hands on a shop rag. "I _really_ hate to sell Kowalski, Reg. I kinda' sorta' hinted to my son that it would be _his_ car, one day. But with The War and all . . . ."

Reg nodded sympathetically. "I take it that The War has hurt your business, then?"

"We tried to buy a consignment of goods from our suppliers in the UK," said Adam nodding. "But they kept stalling and _stalling_ until the day some guy named Thickness got to be your new Minister of Magic. When MACUSA refused to recognize him as your new, legitimate Minister, all American accounts at Gringotts got frozen and all imports and exports got blocked. Virtually all of our Wizarding money is locked in a vault at Gringotts. We can't pay our suppliers. Eventually, we ran out of goods to sell. And we had been dealing with our suppliers in the UK for about nine years, now.

"Later on, I found out that some dude named Lucius Malfoy was responsible for intimidating our suppliers into stalling us. You ever hear of this Malfoy a-hole, Reg?"

Reg nodded solemnly. "Yes, I have heard of him."

"Well, it turns out that we are in the same line of work. His family runs Malfoy Apothecary in the UK. But I don't get it. I mean, Malfoy Apothecary has no outlets in the US or Canada. We are _not_ in competition with each other . . . .

"Anyway, I wanted to have a word with him. Let him know what I think of what he did. But my grandma Endora told me not to confront him. She said that Malfoy is a very powerful dark wizard, and I wouldn't stand a chance against him in a Wizards Duel if he called me out." Adam smiled wanly. "Grandma even said that Malfoy has a seventeen year old son who could whoop my ass in a Wizards Duel, even if he fought fair."

"I beg your pardon," said Reg. "But, you did not say where you went for your Magical Education. I met your sister Tabitha, and she said she went to Hogwarts. Did you go to Randolph Carter or Ilvermorny?"

"Neither," said Adam. "I went to the local muggle secondary school, and was homeschooled in magic by my mom, grandmother, and aunts and uncles. Let's just say that I'm not in line to become the new Sorcerer Supreme when Dr. Stephen Strange retires.

"My magic came late. So late, that everyone thought that I might actually be a Squib. The local Witches' Council wanted me put up for adoption, even though my dad is a muggle. But my grandma Endora would have none of it. Eventually, I showed that I was magical; I was a Warlock, not a Washout, you might say. Still, I had to take "the short broom" to my magic classes.

"Anyway, grandma said that what Malfoy was doing was not aimed specifically at us, but at all wizards and witches who are not "Purebloods." She said that it would be much, much worse if we ended up in his scrying glass, directly.

"You know, Reg, please don't get me wrong, but I'm glad you are here. I wish that it was under better circumstances, but it is nice to have someone I can actually talk with and not keep my guard up."

Reg nodded, "And I can't thank you and your family enough for hosting us. I just wish that Maisie would behave better. Please believe me when I say that this is not like her at all."

"Listen, Reg," said Adam. "I gotta ask this. Maisie's . . . ability . . . ."

"Maisie would never ask a snake to bite your son, Adam. No matter how angry she is with him," answered Reg quickly.

"No! No, that's not what I meant. I mean, well . . . ."

"Yes, most Parselmouths are dark wizards and witches. But not all of them are."

"The Boy Who Lived . . . ." said Adam nodding while he made an attempt to change the uncomfortable subject. "He's supposed to be one. Do you think that he stands a chance against What's-His-Face? I mean, What's-His-Face is _very_ powerful, and by all accounts, he's a total psycho! And rumor has it that he has created not one but several, ah . . . _horcruxes_ . . . ." Adam said the last word in barely a whisper.

"I have heard the same," said Reg, inwardly grateful that the subject had changed. "Whether he has or not, he is perfectly capable of doing it. Mind, I've never studied how to make one of _those things_ you mentioned, myself, but the technique is too well-known to all dark mages.

"But as to your actual question, Adam, the Prophecy says that the Chosen One will win, and You-Know-Who is aware of this, as well."

"Still, Reg," said Adam. "The kid's only seventeen. And he may not even be the _actual_ Chosen One, either. My grandma thinks that the grandson of one of her old friends is the _actual_ subject of the Prophecy; some kid named Neville Bigbottom, or something."

Adam shook his head. When he was seventeen, he was busy getting his girlfriend pregnant with Matt, quickly getting married, and juggling a start-up business while obtaining an Associate's Degree in Business Administration at a local community college. It wasn't easy. But with the help of two loving families, he and Janelle managed to open and run a very successful business. And though there were times when Adam wondered what would have happened if they had not mistimed the use of the contraceptive potion that Janelle had made to celebrate her graduation from Hogwarts and Adams score on his SAT's, he knew that he would not trade his son for anything in the world.

The thought of his children reminded Adam what time it was, and he and Reg stepped out of the garage in time to see Matt and Evie being let off by the school bus, running at full TGIF speed, both waiving to their dad and Mr. Cattermole who were standing outside of the garage as they ran for the front door.

As usual, Matt and Evie Stephens raced each other from the school bus to the front door. Matt was quick, but this time, Evie touched the door first. But she didn't have time to rub it in by gloating. She and Ellie Cattermole had some dance routines to practice. Evie shook her head. How _could_ Ellie grow up in the UK and _not_ know about The Spice Girls . . . ?

Alfred was glad to see that Matt was finally home, and followed the older boy to his room. Once inside, Matt closed the door and began changing into clothes more suitable for play. Seconds later, Matt was in his cutoff jeans, a tee-shirt, barefoot, and ready for what was about to come.

"Did you load 'em and put 'em where I asked you to?" said Matt.

Alfred nodded. "All four water guns are loaded and ready, Matt. But why did you want me to load four?"

"So our sisters will be able to _shoot back_!" said Matt. "It won't be any _fun_ , otherwise." Both Matt and Alfred snuck out to the back, sliding glass door to where the loaded water guns were hidden. Each boy took one, and Matt said, "Now, come with me, Alfred. We have some sisters to soak, and I just love the smell of wet-sister on a Friday night after school! It's the smell of victory!"

The boys crept around to the back of the Cattermole's tent, where Evie and Ellie had set up Evie's cassette player. Evie said to Ellie, "We'll start with a couple of Spice Girls songs. I'll show you the dances that Julie, Carol and me made up for them. Then later, I'll show you how to dance the Macarena!" Evie started the cassette player, and both girls started the dance as they sang simultaneously along with the music.

"So, tell me what you want; what you really, really, want! I'll tell you what I want; what I really, really want!"

" _I'll_ tell you _both_ what I really, really _want_!" said Matt as he and Alfred caught their sisters unaware, just as they had planned. "I want you to get the loaded water pistols on the picnic table on the back porch! You girls have _ten seconds_ before Alfred and I start blasting away!"

"You'd better leave us alone, Matthew Starr Stephens!" said Evie seriously. "Or I'm tellin' Ellie all about that mushy love-letter you wrote and were going to mail to Lark Voorhees on "Saved by the Bell!"

"Now you've got _eight_ seconds, sis. Better step on it!"

"C'mon, Ellie!" said Evie. Both girls shrieked as they ran for the water guns on the picnic table with Matt and Alfred counting down from eight loudly.

And inside the Cattermole's tent, a ten-year-old girl peered out the window flap to see what was going on . . . .


	10. Reaching an Accord

**Chapter 10: Reaching an Accord**

Both Janelle Stephens and Mary Elizabeth Cattermole were glad to see that the boys-versus-girls water gun battle was finally beginning to wind down. It would soon get very dark outside, and the two witches wanted their children to come in before it did.

"Pack it in, kids," said Janelle Stephens. "It'll be dark soon, and I want everyone inside before you can't see your noses in front of your faces!"

"Just five more minutes, mom," said Mathew Stephens, still feeling a little water sloshing in the tank of his Super Soaker. (He just _knew_ that there had to be a dry spot _somewhere_ on his sister and her friend.) "Tomorrow is _Saturday_ , so we don't have to get up for school, or anything . . . ."

"Please, mummy," added Alfred Cattermole for good measure. "We're having _lots_ of fun!"

"Inside now, the lot of you," said Mary Elizabeth, hoping that her voice betrayed no nervousness. "You and Ellie may visit with Mathew and Evie for another hour inside before going back to the tent for bedtime."

Mary Elizabeth realized that in the time it took for that short exchange, it had gotten noticeably darker outside. Growing up in London, there was always _some_ light even on the darkest evenings; so much so that even the stars were hard to see. But here in rural Missouri, she could not believe the near pitch black nights. She would need her wand and a _lumos_ spell or a battery-powered torch to find her way to the tent her family now called home from the Stephens' back porch.

"Don't make us ask you twice, kids," said Janelle in a tone that, while pleasant, meant business.

It was a tone that Matthew and Evie knew all too well and one that Ellie and Alfred both picked up on quickly. Matt collected the water guns as the younger kids headed inside (but not before Evie and Ellie gave their brothers one last blast from their Super Soakers and the boys returned fire.)

"You too, son," said Janelle, as she and Mary Elizabeth handed their children towels.

"I just want to drain the water from our SuperSoakers," said Matt. "I'll be in in a couple of minutes." Then to Alfred, he added, "Get inside and get dried-off. I'll read you some more of "Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn" as soon as I get in and dry myself."

Matt lined the water guns up on the picnic table and began to empty them when he heard footsteps on the grass behind him. When he turned, he was surprised to see Maisie Cattermole approaching him slowly, just visible in the cone of light coming from the back porch lamp. She stopped a few yards away, and the two ten-year-olds stood facing each other for only the second time since the Cattermoles first came to live with them several days ago.

At the sight of Maisie, Matt felt self-conscious. In contrast to his own soggy, cut-off jeans and tee-shirt, Maisie wore a clean, but old-fashioned dress similar to the one she wore during their ill-fated first encounter. Caught off-guard, Matt knew that he probably looked as surprised as he was wet. Matt could not figure out Maisie's expression that, while pleasant, was not exactly friendly. But her expression was not exactly hostile, either . . . .

Businesslike. That was the word that came into Matt's mind as he routed around his vocabulary for something that fit. He had seen the same look on his parents' faces when they were making especially hard deals with customers and suppliers. Though due to The War, it was a look that he had not seen on their faces for a very long time.

And Matt also noticed something else: Maisie Cattermole was a pretty girl. And if she ever smiled, he thought, she would probably be _very_ pretty at that.

Matt broke the silence. "Uh, Hi Maisie . . . ."

"Hello, Matthew," said Maisie in a not-friendly and not-hostile voice. "We need to talk. But first, _we_ have something that needs to be settled."

There was something about the way Maisie said "we" that gave Matt a bad feeling. From her tone, he could tell that she was not just talking about the two of them.

"What do you mean, "we," Maisie?"

Maisie responded by gazing down at his feet. When Matt followed her gaze, he felt his heart jump into his throat. Inches away from his bare feet were two of the biggest copperhead snakes that he had ever seen.

Matthew Starr Stephens knew that the bite of a copperhead was rarely fatal, at least to an adult. And with his "Wizard's Physical Constitution," he knew that even if _both_ snakes bit him, he stood a very good chance of making a full and swift recovery; even if it was an envenomed bite instead of a "dry-bite" that copperheads were know n to give as a "warning." Besides, in a real pinch, Dr. Bombay was only a call away.

But Matt also knew that the bite of a copperhead could be very, very painful. Or so he had heard. And more than anything else at the moment, he wanted his knowledge of snake- lore to remain purely theoretical.

In the end, Matt decided it would be best to play it cool. He returned his eyes to meet Maisie's, managed a half-smile and said, "Well, I'm glad to see that you are making _some_ friends . . . ."

"I'm not exactly their "friend," Matthew," said Maisie seriously. "Snakes don't like to make friends with humans. My role here is more of what you would call an "interpreter." So it would be proper for you to address the _snakes_ during this proceeding, as it is _they_ who are speaking while I merely _translate_ for them."

"If you s-say so," said Matt, looking back down at the snakes, who mercifully moved away from his feet slightly. "So, uh, how's it going, you two . . . ?"

The snaked made hissing sounds, never taking their eyes off of the boy. Every few moments, they would stop, and Maisie replied with hissing sounds of her own. After what seemed like an eternity, Maisie finally spoke English.

"Right. The snakes have a proposition for you. They promise not to bite you or your sister or anyone else living here. In exchange, _you_ must promise to not hurt any of _them_ ; either with magic or by throwing things at them or shooting at them with your BB Gun, _whatever_ that is . . . .

"The truth is that they are _more_ afraid of you than you could ever be of them. In short, if you promise to leave _them_ alone; they will leave _you_ alone. Now, do we have an accord?" Matt did not have to think long, and nodded in the affirmative vigorously.

"You have to _say_ that you agree, Matthew," said Maisie. "I can't translate a _nod_."

Remembering to keep his eyes on the snakes as he talked, Matt felt a little braver, and said, "Does your deal _also_ cover any _pets_ that I might get one day? Say, a dog or a cat, maybe?"

Again, Maisie hissed and the snakes hissed back. She said, "Yes, Matthew. That condition is both acceptable and reasonable to us. We probably should have specified it from the start."

"Then, I agree," said Matt to the snakes, feeling a little more comfortable at the strangeness of the situation, even by the standards of his magical family. "I'd like that a lot."

After Maisie and the snakes exchanged more hissing, the snakes turned and slithered back to the tree line, now all but invisible in the darkness that enshrouded the Stephens' home.

Matt felt a cool relief wash over him. He was about to thank Maisie, but before he could say anything, she said, "Now, you and I need to talk . . . ."

"Sure," said Matt. He gestured to the picnic table. "Wanna sit down?"

Once they were sitting, Maisie said, "I understand that you are "happy" that we – my family – are here. Something about wanting other kids around that you do not have to "keep secrets from;" am I right?"

"Yeah, sure," said Matt. "All the other kids at my school are muggles, and I have to be really careful what I do or say around them! And as far as having anyone from school come over, forget about it . . . ."

"Well, you should know that I am _anything_ but 'happy' to be here, Matthew Stephens," said Maisie. Again, her voice was neither friendly nor hostile, making her frustratingly difficult for Matt to read, much less see where she was going.

"You see, Matthew, back in London, I had friends; _plenty_ of friends from Wizarding families. I had a home and a room that I shared with my sister and places that I liked to go.

"But then came The War and . . . and a lot of my "friends" stopped coming over and stopped asking me to come over to their homes. They were afraid to associate with my family because suddenly it was dangerous to be or know a "Muggle-Born Wizard or Witch," like my mum. The last few weeks, they were even afraid to contact me by mirror or owl.

"And then a week ago, my mum got a notice to appear before someone named Dolores Umbridge, who was head of the "Muggle-Born Registration Commission." Oh, mum tried to tell us that it was no great matter. But I knew better, especially when mum and dad kept us home from school that day. Then, a few hours after they left for the Ministry of Magic for mum's hearing, they both came back home. They looked scared, and dad was only half-dressed!

"Then mum and dad told us that we had to "go away for a time," and that "we had to leave immediately." Other than dad grabbing some clothes and shoes, we didn't even have time to take anything with us but what we were wearing, much less pack anything. We even left some lights and the TV on, and mum and dad _never_ do that when we go somewhere. I don't even think that dad locked the door when we left our flat."

"T-that sounds really bad," said Matt, hoping that he sounded more sincere than dorky.

"This _isn't_ a "holiday abroad" for us, Matthew," said Maisie. "My brother and sister think that this is some kind of "adventure," which I _suppose_ is all well and good for them. But I know that we are here because some bad people back home are out to harm us at best and kill us at worst only because our mum is Muggle-Born!

"So, when we finally came to your home a few days later and I first met you, I thought that you were very selfish to act the way you did; being glad that I was here to be your "friend." And then, when you made those snakes fly back into the woods . . . ."

"But I thought that they were going to _bite_ you!" said Matt.

"I know that _now_ ," said Maisie. "And you had no way of knowing that I am a Parselmouth, and that they just wanted to talk to me about how you tried to hurt them and their friends every time you saw them. All you saw was a couple of venomous snakes bearing down on me. We – the snakes and I – discussed this at length a little while ago. And it was the snakes who pointed out to me that I was being just as selfish towards you.

"Back home, I was attending the local muggle school to learn letters and numbers. But I've always had friends my age in the Wizarding World that I could be with and let my guard down. I can't imagine what it must be like to always have to watch what I say around others to keep Our World's existence a secret. So I can understand how you must have felt when you heard that there were some kids your age from Our World to stay with you for a time.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I'm sorry that I was acting like such a sod. And I'm sorry that I was mad at you after you attacked the snakes. I know that you thought I was in danger, and were just trying to protect me."

Matt smiled, and said, "Well, I did think that those snakes were trying to bite you, or something. But I guess that the way I went about it – jumping out of my tree house like I was Tarzan, or something . . . I have to admit that I _was_ kind of showing off . . . ."

"I know," said Maisie, smiling for the first time since she came here. "But I have to admit that it _was_ impressive. Your tree house must be at least ten feet off the ground."

"Twelve feet, seven inches, actually," said Matt. "But who's counting . . . ."

Maisie giggled, and Matt joined in with a laugh of his own.

He was right. Maisie Cattermole _was_ very pretty when she smiled.

Inside the Stephens' house, Janelle and Mary Elizabeth watched from behind the sliding glass door as their eldest children talked. Between them, Alfred Cattermole stood in his pajamas, holding the book that Matt promised to read to him "in a few moments" – a half an hour ago.

"Call them inside, mummy," said Alfred. "Matt said he would read to me!"

"I'll read to you, tonight, dear," said Mary Elizabeth. "For now, I think that we need to give the big kids time to talk things out . . . ."

Outside, the conversation between Matt and Maisie was winding down.

"So the _snakes_ told me," said Maisie. That I should ". . . . Conssssider idiot'ssss point of view. No idiotssss hisss age to play with. Then you arrive. Enthussssiassssm to be expected."

"I guess they _would_ think that I am an idiot after all that I did to them," admitted Matt. "What else did they say about me?"

"They pointed out that, "Alsssso, isss male. Attemptssss at courtssship in immature manner to be expected..."

"Well, to be honest, I don't know much about girls," said Matt, smiling uncomfortably. Maisie was cute and smart. But Matt did not want to risk getting any cooties, just yet. "But for what it's worth, you are kinda . . . pretty." That made Maisie blush and smile.

"So, anyway, Maisie," continued Matt. "My mom wants me to get up early, tomorrow morning. She wants to make her crawdad gumbo for dinner Saturday night, and wants me to set the traps in the creek a short way from here.

"I was thinking, would you like to come with me when I do . . . ?"

To Matt's surprise, Maisie said, "I would love to!"

Before going off to their beds, the two ten-year-olds went inside the Stephenses home to let them know that any misunderstandings that they had with each other were now resolved, making everyone present breathe a sigh of relief.

When it was time to go, Maisie said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Oh, and Matt, that was really nice of you to give some of your American Matchbox cars to Alfred, and your sister giving Ellie some of her dolls. They had to leave all of their toys behind at our flat. That was quite considerate of you and your sister."

A short time later, the Stephenses and Cattermoles were asleep. But a few hundred miles away, Pansy Parkinson checked her watch. After two more Floo Hearth hops, they would be close enough to Bonne Terre, Missouri, to take a muggle cab. The thought made Pansy as nervous as she was excited.

And she could not wait to meet her new little sister.

 _Author's Acknowledgement:_ _I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Marquis-Carabas for his suggestion of what the snakes would have said to Maisie Cattermole._


	11. Home Invasion

**Chapter 11: Home Invasion**

Saturday Morning started early for the Stephenses and the Cattermoles. All nine of them were having an early breakfast at the Stephenses' kitchen table. It was a simple breakfast that Mary had suggested and prepared when she saw the loafs of bread and the cans of baked beans that Mrs. Martindale brought with her when she made the delivery from the Shmoo Preserve. Janelle suggested adding a mixture of sautéed, diced onion, green pepper, and diced tomatoes to the beans, which were ladled onto slices of toasted bread. This was also served with fresh fruit salad consisting of bananas, strawberries, and blueberries. To top it all off, Janelle made some of her famous N'awlins-style beignets.

"That was great!" said Matt. "Mom, we _gotta_ have beans on toast for breakfast more often!"

"I'm glad that you liked it, Matthew," said Mary. "I wanted to do something to help while we are here."

"Well, if you insist," replied Janelle. "I want to make crawdad gumbo for dinner tonight, and I'd love the help and the company." When the table was cleared, Adam levitated a large, galvanized metal cooler onto the table. Janelle thanked her husband, and said, "I hope that this is enough iced tea to last us until dinner. Everybody help yourselves, and don't be shy about it."

Adam and Reg kissed their wives and kids goodbye as they prepared to go into town to sell Kowalski to her new owner. Sadly, the buyer was a muggle. So while they would be getting a fair price in dollars for their car, the Stephenses would not be getting any Wizarding Specie as part of the price.

"We should be back around noon, Jan," said Adam. "One at the latest."

"Do you have our list?" said Jan. Adam replied by holding up the list that Jan and Mary had written over the past couple of days.

"Anything else you ladies can think of?" said Adam. When Jan and Mary said that there was nothing more they wanted to add, Adam and Reg went out to the garage.

Matt and Maisie then said their goodbyes and started to go outside where Matt's Radio Flyer wagon was waiting with the crawfish traps loaded and ready. But before they could make it to the door, Alfred said, "Can I come too, Matt?"

Before Matt could answer the awkward question, Mary said that she wanted Alfred to stay with the ladies. "We'll need a _wizard_ around to keep us safe until your father and Mr. Stephens get back."

Matt said, "Why don't you set up the Hot Wheels track while I am gone, Alfred! I bet you can set-up a totally awesome layout."

To everyone's relief, Alfred accepted this immediately, and went to Matt's room to get the big, cardboard box with the orange track and other accessories. Then Evie and Ellie got their Barbie Dolls, and planted themselves in front of the television to watch more "Mickey Mouse Club" episodes on the Stephenses' VCR. This left Jan and Mary time for themselves as they began preparing the gumbo.

Once in the kitchen, Mary said, "Do you think that your son can catch enough crawfish for all nine of us, Jan?"

"For all of us and then some," said Jan cheerfully. "Our son knows just where to set the traps.

"You know, Mary, I am so glad that Maisie is warming up to Matt; especially after such an inauspicious start. Oh, and by the way, if you are going to chop the onions, help yourself to a piece of bread to chew on. That should prevent any tears. It's an old muggle trick."

Mary sighed. "I don't think that that will be a problem for me, Jan. I think that I've already cried my lifetime's allotment of tears over the past two weeks after everything that has happened to us."

Janelle said, "Well, you're here, safe and sound, where that horrible Umbridge woman can't get to you or your family, now. And even if she tried, she has to know that she will be going up against an entire community of witches and wizards that don't hold with her point of view."

Mary smiled at her friend. "You know, it's strange. I remember how my parents reacted when we found out that I was a witch. When weird things started to happen around me, mum and dad thought that I might be a mutant. They actually breathed a sigh of relief when we were visited by Professor McGonagall and she told us that I was a witch – an actual broom-riding, house-haunting, cauldron-stirring witch! But they still found it kind of hard to accept. How could I be a witch, they wondered? They were simple greengrocers. How did I get my magical abilities?"

"The same way that I did, Mary," said Janelle as she started on the celery. "We both had ancestors who were squibs that got put up for adoption by their "loving" families. I was more fortunate than most muggle borns because the FBS was able to trace my ancestry straight back to the squib brother of an infamous _bokor_ known as the Shadow Man who was the terror of 1920's Louisiana.

"You know, my parents thought that I might have been born with the "X-Gene" at first, too. I mean, just try telling an _astronaut_ married to a junior high school _science teacher_ that their daughter can do real, Fairy Tale _magic_." Janelle chuckled ironically. "Of course, coming from a Cajun-Creole background and being born and raised in N'awlins kind of softened the blow a bit. My parents may be scientists, but with our roots firmly planted in Bayou Country, we don't automatically reject the supernatural out-of-hand."

"I'm not able to trace my magical ancestry at all," said Mary. "But I just know that I must be from a family of Dark Mages."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, there is Maisie's . . . you know, _ability_ . . . ." Mary's lips quivered a bit, and she added, "And that does not come from Reg's side of the family . . . ."

Janelle brightened, and said, "So your eldest child is a Parselmouth. I say that is neither good nor bad. If not for Maisie's ability, our son might have been bitten by one or more of those copperheads that he was throwing stuff at because _he_ thought that they were trying to bite him or Evie. In one night, your daughter managed to clear up a misunderstanding that had been going on for years!"

"But what if I am related to someone like . . . like _You-Know-Who_ . . . ?"

"Mary, you are no more "What's-His-Face" than I'm The Shadow Man – or Woman, as the case may be - _regardless_ of whom we may be related to biologically. I mean, sure, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord can talk to snakes – I even heard a rumor that he actually has a pet _naga_ that does his bidding. But, OK, so he can talk to snakes. Big deal; so can the Boy Who Lived!"

Mary was about to say something when both witches heard a knock on the front door. "That _can't_ be Reg and Adam, can it?"

"Not _this_ soon," said Janelle. "They shouldn't be back for another couple of hours . . . ."

Janelle shook her head. Even if the men were somehow finished with the car sale and the shopping, they would not come home so soon; especially when Adam knew that the moment they did get home that their wives would put them both to work getting the house clean for their first real dinner as new neighbors, now that Matt and Maisie were on speaking terms. And there is no way that Matt and Maisie could have set the crawfish traps so quickly - all the more so that they knew that _they_ would be put to work the moment they got home, too.

"Who could it be, then?" said Mary nervously.

"More than likely someone who does not know that we are no longer in business," said Janelle with a touch of sadness. "I guess I should go and tell them the bad news."

Mary followed Janelle to the front door. On the living room floor, Evie, Ellie and Alfred looked up from their play to see who could be visiting. When Janelle opened the door, she saw two kids in their late teens, a boy and a girl. They both looked tired and scared and both wore disheveled Hogwarts uniforms with the yellow and black neckties of Hufflepuff House.

"P-please help us!" said the girl in a British accent. She wiped a tear from her face. "We're _muggle-born_ , and we are running from Snatchers."

"Get inside!" said Janelle, taking out her wand. "How far are they behind you?"

"They lost us in Scotland," said the boy, also in a British accent. "We managed to come here."

The girl added, "We are trying to get to the Woolworth Building in New York to see if your MACUSA can help us!"

Janelle put her wand back in her pocket. "You two are safe now. Please come in. You can get yourselves cleaned up, and then let me get you something to eat. I'll call the FBS while you're eating. Don't worry. When I explain the situation, they'll have an Auror or a Whitelighter here in no time! Now, why don't you two tell us your names?"

The girl introduced herself as Pansy and the boy said his name was Vincent. Then the three playing children came up to say hello, and were introduced by Jan and Mary.

"We had to run from Snatchers, too," said Ellie.

Alfred went over to Vincent, proudly showing him a small, toy car with the front end shaped like a trident. The toy car had been hand-painted white, but judging by all the chips, it had originally been yellow. Also, someone had drawn a rough, red "M" on the bonnet, and the number 5 on each door. "Matt gave me this. He gave me _lots_ of cars from his collection. I had to leave all my Matchbox cars behind when we had to leave. Matt told me that this car is called the Hot Wheels "Second Wind."

Alfred then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, "Do you want to know a secret, Vincent? Matt says that this is _really_ the "Mach 5" from the " Speed Racer" cartoons! Do you like to watch "Speed Racer" cartoons, Vincent?"

"Can't say that I do," Vincent replied, "And where is your friend Matt, now?"

"Oh, he and our elder sister are out by the creek, setting crawfish traps!"

"My son and Mary's daughter will be back in about an hour, or two," said Janelle. "But the two of you need to rest up and eat something while I call the FBS to come and get you.

"Mary, if you can get Pansy and Vincent some towels and wash cloths and show them where the bathroom is, I'll fix them a quick meal."

Pansy told Vincent to wash up first, as she thought it would take her longer. Then as Vincent followed Mary to the bathroom, Pansy followed Janelle into the kitchen. "I can't thank you enough for your kindness," said Pansy.

"Think nothing of it," said Janelle. "You and your friend have had a horrible experience, but you are safe now.

"When you are both cleaned up, I'll start you on some beignets that I made this morning. Have either you or Vincent ever tried Shmoo Chocolate Milk before?"

Janelle reached for the plate of beignets that were left-over from breakfast. But when she turned around, she saw that Pansy had her wand out, pointing directly at her. Before Janelle could say anything, Pansy said, " _Petrificus Totalus_ ," and Janelle, dropping the plate, felt herself pulled together as though she were standing at attention as the ground slipped out from under her.

Janelle had learned about the full-body petrification spell at Hogwarts, but had never experienced it, firsthand. True to Professor McGonagall's description, she was unable to move, but she could still hear and see (straight ahead, at least,) perfectly. Looking up at the ceiling, Janelle could hear heavy footsteps coming for the kitchen. When they stopped, she could hear Vincent saying, "I got the other mudblood bound with an incarcerous spell and the kids locked up in the main bedroom."

"Did you remember to remove all the mirrors and windows and take the telephone before you sealed the door?"

"Too right," said Vincent. "I got all the mirrors. I transfigured the windows into part of the wall, and did the same with the door. But I could not find any telephones in the room at all."

"No telephones?" said Pansy. "That's odd. These people live like muggles. You would think that they would have a telephone in their bedroom . . . ." Pansy pointed to a telephone on the kitchen wall. "Are you absolutely certain that you didn't overlook something like _this_ , Vincent?"

"Positive!" said Vincent. "I followed the instructions that Madame Undersecretary Umbridge gave us to the letter!"

Pansy nodded. The plan had been to wait until at least two of the mudbloods and blood-traitors had left, and then take the house. It was decided to lock the children in the master bedroom, after removing anything that the children might be able to use to call for help, and transfiguring the windows into part of the wall to prevent escape. Since the master bedroom had its own loo, there would be no constant whining to use the bathroom or for some water to drink.

The fact that the older children would have to be taken separately was a complication, though, but not an insurmountable one. Pansy said, "Where is the fugitive mudblood now?"

"In a chair in the living room," said Vincent. He pointed to Janelle's stiff form on the floor. " _Petrificus Totalus_? Why not _incarcerous_ , Pansy?"

"Don't you know anything about the Wizards and Witches in the Colonies, Vincent? They practice a lot of "wandless magic." If I used _incarcerous_ , she might have still been able to blink, twitch her nose or make some other gesture and overpower us. Now, levitate her into the living room with the other mudblood!"

Vincent said, " _levicorpus_ ," and Janelle felt herself being levitated and being moved. Because of the full-body petrification curse, she was unable to speak, which was probably a good thing at the moment. She wanted to reply to the girl's M-B Word slur, but she knew that that would probably make things worse at the moment. A few moments later, Janelle felt herself being leaned against the wall like she was a guitar, only just managing to catch a glimpse of Mary, who was bound by magical ropes to a kitchen chair.

Then Janelle heard a loud "bang," and then saw that she was face-to-face with a short, mean looking woman dressed in a ridiculous looking girly, pink outfit. Her presence filled Janelle with dread as the name Dolores Umbridge came unbidden into her mind. The woman made a noise of satisfaction as she stared into Janelle's eyes. She then turned her attention to Mary, making the same hubristic sound, and said, "Did you two have any trouble?"

"Against a couple of _mudbloods_ , Madame Undersecretary?" said Vincent with as much incredulity as he could muster.

"Are the _children_ safe?"

Pansy said, "Three of them are – the three youngest. We have them in the master bedroom, just where you wanted us to put them."

"And what of the girl that this mudblood," Umbridge glanced contemptuously over at Mary, "claims to be "Maisie Cattermole?"

"She and the "Stephenses' son" are at a nearby creek, Madame Undersecretary" said Vincent. "I should have no problem finding them from the air."

"Then do it," said Umbridge with a touch of impatience. "And remember, they are _not_ to be harmed in _any_ way!" Vincent nodded and left Pansy with Umbridge.

"Now, what of the two blood-traitors?"

"They are away on business in town and are not expected to return for another hour, or so, Madame Undersecretary" said Pansy.

"Right, then," said Umbridge. Umbridge then cocked her head when she heard a low, rumbling noise outside and smiled. "Ah, splendid! The muggle workers are here, right on time!"

Umbridge stepped outside as a large lorry came to a stop and several men in work clothes and hard hats got out and began approaching the house. With a swish and flick of her wand, a plan for a small structure on a parchment appeared. Umbridge met the first man in the group halfway from where they were, and said, "In the back yard, you will see a large, brick barbecue pit. We need you to make it look _exactly_ like this plan. Now get to work, and be quick about it!" Without another word, the workmen, ensorcelled by Umbridge's use of the imperious curse, began to convert the Stephenses barbecue pit into a working Floo Hearth.

Smiling, Umbridge nodded to Vincent, who had his _Nimbus 2001_ and was ready to begin the search. Again, Umbridge repeated her order that the children were not to be harmed, and then she and Pansy Parkinson went back inside of the Stephenses' home.

Flying at treetop level, Vincent Crabbe flew off in search of the soon-to-be Maisie Umbridge and Maxim Zabini.


	12. The Boy on the Broom

**Chapter 12: The Boy on the Broom**

Matt Stephens and Maisie Cattermole walked down the road to the trail through the woods that would take them to the creek where they would set the crawfish traps. They planned to go back about six hours later when ( hopefully) the traps would be full with tasty crawfish that Matt's mom would add to the pot when they were still fresh, rounding out their meal.

Maisie said, "Did your mum or dad enchant the traps to attract the crawfish?"

"Nah," said Matt smiling. "I've lived here all of my life. I just know _where_ to put the traps in the creek where I can catch the most of them. But no magic is involved. I even use plain old cheap hotdogs for bait; the cheaper and greasier, the better!"

As the two ten-year-olds walked up the path to the creek, Maisie said, "Matt, what's your school like? Mum says that my siblings and I will be going with you and your sister to your school in a couple more days. Do you have a lot of friends there?"

Matt shrugged. "Not so much "friends" as classmates who are _friendly_ to me. When I was Evie's age, I had lots of friends that I would spend time with after school and on weekends. Sometimes I would go to their homes to play or meet them in the park.

"But because of my parents' business, I could _never_ have any of my muggle classmates over in case they saw something that they shouldn't. And you can only make so many excuses for why nobody can come over to your house before they stop inviting you over to their homes . . . .

"So how about your old school, Maisie? My mom told me that you went to an all muggle school too. Did you have the same problems?"

"Not like you do," said Maisie. "My mum stayed at home watching us and keeping house while our dad worked at his job at the Ministry. Being muggle-born, mum knew to be extra cautious to keep any of our visitors from seeing magic performed. And if dad was home when I had a guest over, he would show them some simple card-tricks, claiming that "magic" was his hobby.

"Oh, dad absolutely _hated_ that people thought that he was a muggle "magician." But if something _did_ happen while I had friends over and they asked about it, dad could just smile slyly and say, "A good 'magician' _never_ reveals his secrets," and everyone would leave it at that . . . ."

"That's a pretty cool idea," said Matt. "I wish that my mom and dad could have done something like that. But there is just _too much_ magic going on at my house to explain away as simple muggle sleight-of-hand tricks. Besides, when mom's and dad's store _was_ open, we could have customers apparating or orbing over at _any_ time. And that's all that we would need is to have me practicing hitting with a friend from school in our back yard just as someone "pops" in out of thin air to buy something."

Maisie looked at Matt dubiously. "You and your friends practiced . . . _hitting_ each other . . . ?"

Matt laughed, but not impolitely. "Baseball; it's a muggle game. You have to hit a ball with a bat – a long bat; not like the kind that Beaters use in Quidditch.

"I'm actually pretty good at Baseball and Softball and other muggle sports, too. I don't like to brag, Maisie. But I even helped my class win a big game of Dodgeball yesterday against kids from another classroom by taking out two of the other side's best players before they got me." Matt shook his head wistfully. "But if I _wasn't_ any good at sports, I don't think that _anyone_ would want to talk to me at school at all . . . ."

"D-do you think that anyone at your school will want to talk to _me_?" said Maisie softly.

"Why not?" said Matt with a wide ten-year-old's grin. "Especially with that cute accent of yours!" That made Maisie smile and blush slightly.

"Now it's your turn, Maisie. What was it like at your school in England?"

Maisie sighed, and said, "I liked my classmates and teachers. And I had muggle friends as well as friends from Our World. Or rather, I did at one time." Maisie lowered her voice to barely a whisper, and continued, "When . . . _You-Know-Who_ came back and his Death Eaters began causing trouble, people began to distance themselves from us because mum is muggle born. My Wizarding friends stopped coming over. Mum and dad said that they were afraid of what the Death Eaters might do to their families if they were labeled as "blood-traitors."

"Then, when the Ministry fell and Pius Thickness became Minister of Magic, things went from bad to worse. Muggle born wizards and witches were being accused of "stealing magic" from true wizards and witches and were being called in to the newly-formed Muggle Born Registration Commission, where they would have to prove their magical lineage or be sent away to Azkaban Prison for the crime of "magic theft."

Matt said softly, "That's when they called your mom to come in, wasn't it?

"Yes," said Maisie. "Mum and dad kept us home from school that day. We were alone. We did not even have a sitter. The girl that mum and dad normally used – her name was Luna – could not be reached. Since Luna and her father were still speaking with us right up until the end, we were worried that something bad might have happened to them. You see, Luna's father writes a tabloid that is critical of the Pureblood Supremacists and Minister Thickness.

"Mum and dad told us that nothing bad would happen. That we had to 'Keep Calm and Carry On,' as the muggles say. Then a few hours later, mum and dad came back home, and they were _scared_! Dad wasn't even fully dressed!

"They told us that we had to leave quickly. Dad got dressed and mum grabbed our passports. We made a quick stop at the bank, and then we went to Heathrow Airport. Mum and Dad did not think that any Snatchers would be watching muggle ways out of the country. From there, we flew straight to LaGuardia Airport in New York. Once we landed, we hired a cab and went straight to the Woolworth Building. When we got there, we told the American Aurors what had happened, and requested asylum. From there, one of your Aurors then took us to the FBS Headquarters in Salem where they said we could get help. It wasn't too long after that that I met you in the waiting room . . . .

"Oh, Matt, I'm sorry I was such a _sod_ to you. I can't imagine what it must be like for a boy to be roughed-up by three, older bullies. But I can imagine that you must have felt completely helpless; just as I was feeling when we first met. Can you ever forgive me for taking my frustrations out on you?"

Matt smiled. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Maisie. Believe me, I get it. Besides, we're friends _now_!"

The children walked up the trail a little further when they came to a creek that to Maisie's eyes looked more like a small river. Once there, Matt began removing his shoes and socks and asked Maisie to do the same. When Matt saw her hesitating, he said. "Don't worry. The water isn't too cold. And I've got towels in the wagon to dry our feet once we're done setting the traps."

"But, aren't you afraid of stepping on something sharp like a rock or even a broken bottle?"

"What I am afraid of is getting my Air Jordans wet," said Matt as he rolled up his jeans. "And anyway, most of the rocks in the creek are worn smooth by the current. Besides, even if I do cut myself badly on anything sharp, mom and dad can fix me up with a simple episkey charm.

"I really like playing here, Maisie. My sister and me come here all the time. It's too bad that summer is over. Have you ever played in a creek before? It's _way_ better than any swimming pool." Then Matt pointed to a raft made out of logs. "I made that last year without my dad's help. I'd love to take you for a ride on it when we are done setting the traps." Matt began taking the crawfish traps out of the wagon, and waded in, the water coming up to his knees. "C'mon, Maisie! It's not too cold, and the mud will feel good on your feet. Grab some traps and come on in. It'll be alright."

Tentatively, Masie took off her shoes, took some traps out of the wagon, and waded in the creek. "What do I do now, Matt?"

"Just hand me a trap when I ask for one. This shouldn't take too long. Then we can take a short cruise on my raft."

Just as Matt and Maisie finished setting the last trap, a shadow fell over them. Looking up, they saw a chubby teenage wizard hovering above them on a broom. Matt blinked. The kid, who was wearing a messy prep school uniform, was on a cherry _Nimbus 2001_! Speaking in a British accent, the boy on the broom said, "You two must be Matthew "Stephens" and Maisie "Cattermole." If you were muggles, you would probably be running away from me, screaming."

"Yeah, that's us, mister," said Matt cautiously but politely. "But if you've come to buy something from my mom and dad, I'm afraid that our store is . . . closed, for now.

"By the way sir, that's a _totally awesome_ broom you're ridin' on. How fast can you make it go? And how tight can you make it turn? Do you race on it, or do you play Quidditch . . . ?"

But instead of answering Matt's question, the boy commanded, "Get out of that dirty water and come with me, there's a couple of good kids."

Matt and Maisie looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. Keeping his tone of voice polite like he was taught to do, Matt said, "Why should we come with you, mister?"

"Because I _said_ so!" said the boy on the broom. Then, obviously thinking quickly, he added, "Right. I'm Vincent Crabbe, and your _mum_ said that I would find you two here and that I'm supposed to take you back home, _now_! She said it was an _emergency_!"

Again, Matt and Maisie exchanged looks. Matt said, "If you are supposed to take us back home because there is an emergency, then do you know my dog's name, mister . . . ?"

Impatiently, Vincent said, "I didn't see any mutts at your place. You don't have a bloody dog."

"W-what's my dog's name, Sir?" said Matt, slowly reaching into the water for where he had just set the last trap. "If my mom sent you, then _prove it_ , Mister Crabbe! _What is my dog's name_?"

Vincent descended the broom to be face-to-face with the children in the creek. "I'm only going to say it one more time, you little sod. Get out of the bloody water and come with me! And I don't want any more of your bloody cheek!"

"Yes, sir . . . ," said Matt slowly. "S-since you put it _that_ way . . . ." Matt swung the trap from the water, catching Vincent on the side of his head and knocking him off of his broom and into the creek. Matt then grabbed Maisie's hand just like he did when the copperheads were approaching them the day her family got here. But this time, he did not have to tell her to run.

Splashing wildly, Matt and Maisie got out of the creek as fast as they could and plunged into the woods just as Vincent got back on his broom, and then went into the woods after them . . . .

Adam Stephens was pleasantly surprised that the person who wanted to buy Kowalski was at the Hardee's right on time when he and Reg got there. The man was very impressed with the condition of his Challenger, and the actual transaction went off without a hitch.

The sale went off so smoothly that when it was over, Adam and Reg made it to the bank to deposit the check just as it opened, and did not have to wait in line. Better still, Kowalski's buyer had given Adam a _Cashier's_ Check, and the full amount was available as soon as it was deposited. Adam promptly withdrew two hundred dollars, and then he and Reg were off to do the shopping.

Again, Adam's and Reg's luck held out at the store. They found everything that their wives wanted, and the lines at the checkout counter were short. In less than half the time that Adam thought that it would take, he and Reg were on their way back home in Janelle's Pacer.

Both wizards were in good spirits as they went back to the Stephenses home. As they drove past the old lead mine entrance on School Street, Adam suggested that one day soon they could all go there for the tour. The old mine was a big tourist attraction and since it was flooded, it was a popular spot for scuba diving.

"I think that your wife and kids will get a big kick out of it," said Adam. "There is also a small museum in town dedicated to Space Exploration. My father-in-law even donated some stuff to it from his Apollo 18 and Space Shuttle missions."

"That sounds interesting," said Reg nodding.

"There's even a water park in nearby Farmington," said Adam. "It's closed now for the season. But Matt and Evie like to go there, when we can . . . ."

Adam shook his head in frustration. Because money was so short, he was only able to take his kids _twice_ during the summer. Before The War, the Stephenses normally went a few times a week. Matt and Evie said they understood. But that did not make Adam feel any better.

The two wizards turned off of School Street and began the two mile trip down Midshipman Road to the very end where the Stephenses lived and until recently, ran their business. Though the speed limit was 30 mph, Adam kept it around five miles under the limit and Reg could understand why. The road was paved, but was so narrow in places that if another car was coming your way, one driver had to pull over.

As they drove, Adam said, "I still can't believe that we got everything done that we wanted to without any hassles." Adam smiled, and added, "Did you by any chance slip some _Felix Felicis_ in my Tang this morning . . . ?"

Reg said, "If I had any to use, I would have given it to Mary before she had her hearing with the Muggle Born Registration Commission. Though if I had, we might not have met."

"Makes sense," said Adam.

"Do you know what I think, Adam? I think that it was about time for our luck to change for both of our families. Especially with all that has happened to all of us over the past several months."

"I heard that, Reg." Adam pulled the Pacer off to the side of the road to let an SUV coming from the other way go around them. But instead of immediately pulling back onto the road, Adam killed the engine and said, "Reg, can I ask you something. I know that we just met and all, but that is kind of why I want to ask you this. You know me enough to have an opinion, and I won't be offended by your answer, no matter what you say."

"A-alright . . . ," said Reg, unsure of where Adam was going with his question. "What's on your mind, Adam?"

Adam explained how before The War, he and Janelle were doing _very_ well; never lacking for anything. It was hard work and the hours were strange, but they always managed to save more than they spent. For almost ten years,  A&J Stephens Magical Marketplace was _the_ place to find rare magical ingredients and potions west of the Mississippi. They also carried items that were hard-to-find in the States, such as Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs and imported Butterbeer. They even carried the main American Wizarding newspaper, _The Towne Scryer_ , as well as the UK publications like _Witch Weekly_ and _The Daily Prophet_.

"We had a _great_ business going, Reg. With the contacts that Janelle had met when she was at Hogwarts - combined with the muggle advertising techniques that my dad taught me - we all but had the market cornered for five hundred miles around . . . .

"You know, Reg, we were not _only_ thinking about getting another car or two, or even buying the land we are now renting and building a better house; we were thinking of having another _child_!

"But then, things started going from bad to worse. Suppliers in the UK who had been dealing with us for almost ten years started to blow us off. They would not outright refuse to deal with us, but they would be what muggles call "passive-aggressive." They would ignore our owls and mirror calls, and stonewall us on delivery dates. And when they _would_ deliver, it would be merchandise of such poor quality, that nobody in their right mind would buy it!

"But what _really_ got us was when we made one last attempt at getting a good consignment of merchandise and that Malfoy dude pressured our suppliers in the UK to stall us until your Ministry fell and all of our account at Gringotts got frozen."

Reginald Cattermole listened politely, unsure of what Adam was getting at. His friend was now staring into space, shaking his head. Then, after a long moment of silence, Adam Stephens turned to Reg, and said, "Reg, do I look like as big a _screw-up_ as I feel like I am?"

"W-well, Adam, I think . . . ."

"I mean," Adam continued, "We could see that things were bad in the UK at the time, and we thought that – no, _I_ thought that – if we could make _one_ last, large purchase from our main supplier, that we could restock our shelves and stay in business a bit longer. Janelle wanted to withdraw our account at Gringotts. She said the situation was too unstable. But to _make_ money, we had to _spend_ money. Our suppliers who were still talking to us promised to send us this one, last shipment, and I authorized it; I authorized it when my wife thought that we should have withdrawn our Gringotts account and cut our losses.

"If I had not done it, we might have had enough Wizarding Money left to work with. But I just had to be "a man about it and make the hard decisions." And now . . . ."

"I take it," said Reg. "That the Missus was none too pleased . . . ?"

Adam chuckled ironically. "Oh, she was _great_ about it. She said that she had doubts about what she wanted to do, and was glad that I "took the bull by the horns! But the bottom line is that, if we had done what Jan wanted, we might not be in such bad shape. _Or more than likely_ , thought Adam, _it would have only prolonged the inevitable . . . ._

"So, Reg, what do you think . . . ?"

"Well, Adam," said Reg slowly. "It just so happens that I want your honest opinion of me, too. So before I answer you, I want to know if I seem as _cowardly_ as I feel like I am."

"Cowardly?!" said Adam surprised. "Where did _that_ come from? From where I'm sitting, I see a man who _really_ took charge and got his family to safety away from a bunch of "Pureblood" fanatics. I mean, I don't know if I could have done what you did.

"Oh, I can say I _would_ have done that if I _had_ to. But the truth is that I would _never_ have to do anything like that. I mean, I'm not stupid enough to think that "it can't happen here in America." But more like, I would not actually _have to_ lift a finger to protect myself, much less my family.

"Any "Pureblood" Extremist who wants to mess with me or my sister Tabitha would have to go through my mom, my Grandma Endora and my Uncle Arthur, first. And even What's-His-Face would think long and hard twice before trying to do that! He may be a raving lunatic, but he isn't stupid. You know, My Grandma Endora actually says What's-His-Face's assumed name and even his _real_ name out loud, daring him to come and face her!

"But did you know what _really_ got to me, Reg? It was when Jenny Martindale brought over our "delivery." Not so much the shmoo milk, eggs and butter. The shmoo make so much of it that a lot of the stuff actually gets filtered to _muggle_ foodbanks.

"But when Jenny brought those boxes of vegetables, fruit, flour and rice . . . . When that happened, I _knew_ that we had really hit the skids financially . . . ."

Reg said, "You know Adam, you have been paying your taxes and making donations all the while your business was up and running. That's why organisations like your Shmoo Preserve is there; to _help_ wizards and witches who have fallen on hard times. I would have done the same, if I were in your position, and would be glad that there was _somewhere_ to turn to if worse came to worse. But my own position is not so simple . . . .

"Whatever else we did, Adam, we _ran away_. You heard what Maisie said when we first got here. _"We should be fighting those bastards instead of running from them!"_ And she was looking _directly_ at me when she said it. She's barely said _anything_ to me over the past couple of days. I'm half expecting her to present me with a bloody _white feather_ any day now . . . ."

Adam wasn't sure what that bit about a 'white feather' meant, but he _did_ have an idea of how to respond to his friend's feelings of uncertainty. Adam smiled, and jerked his head back to the cargo area where the groceries and other supplies were loaded. Reg returned the smile and raised a knowing eyebrow. Then, without another word between them, both Wizards exited the car and went to the hatchback. Adam opened it and rummaged through the bags until he found the six pack of beer that they had bought separately from the receipt that they would give to Janelle when they got back.

"It's warm, Reg," said Adam taking a bottle for himself and handing another one to Reg. "But Jan says that people from England like it that way. I'm going to use a spell to cool mine down."

"I'll have mine ice-cold, too, Adam. When in Rome, and all that . . . ."

Reg reached for his wand, but Adam shook his head. "Try it like this." Adam twitched his nose, and frost appeared at the neck of his own bottle. Another twitch, and the bottle cap vanished.

"Wandless magic for _this_?" said Reg doubtfully. Over the past few days, Adam had tried to show Reg how to do controlled magic without a wand for simple tasks, with varying degrees of success. For his trigger gesture, Reg had chosen a finger-snap. "I don't know . . . ."

"Hey, like you say, "When in Rome, and all that!" Adam shrugged. "This is _America_ , Reg. _Nobody_ here uses a _wand_ for something simple like chilling and opening a bottle of brewski."

"But we only have six bottles. If I bugger it . . . ."

"You _won't_ ," said Adam confidently. "Unlike me, you are not a screw-up. Now, think about opening the bottle and snap your fingers like you practiced and just _do it_!"

Reg set his bottle on the ground a few yards away from the back of the car, took a step back, and snapped his fingers. Nothing happened the first time. But on the second try, frost appeared at the neck of the bottle. Another snap of Reg's fingers and the bottle cap vanished.

"Way to snap your fingers and make stuff happen!" said Adam smiling broadly. "Fonzie on "Happy Days" doesn't have _anything_ on you, Reg!"

Reg wasn't sure what Adam meant by "Happy Days," much less who this "Fonzie" bloke was. But he picked up his bottle, and before taking his first sip, he saluted Adam with his bottle and said, "To you _not_ being a screw-up. You're just a man who made a bad decision, but you are man enough to talk about it."

Adam smiled, saluted Reg with his bottle, and said, "And to you for summoning up the courage to get your family to safety, and succeeding against all odds."

Simultaneously, the two wizards toasted their new understanding, taking a long, well-deserved drink. Though Reg found this American Lager to be a bit _thin_ for his tastes, he reminded himself that _what_ you drink is not nearly important as _who_ you are drinking with and _what_ you are drinking to.

Adam said, "So, I guess I'm not Gomez Addams any more than you are Godric Gryffindor. But I think we do alright with what we've got. And if you can lend me some of your courage, I think that I finally have something to tell my wife when we get back home."

"What would that be?" said Reg, taking another sip after adjusting his cooling charm to see if the taste of this stuff improved with a further drop in temperature. But another sip convinced Reg that even magic had its limits.

"Well, our lease is going to expire this coming March," said Adam after taking another long chug. "The Landlord says that he will let us renew it for another five years without an increase in rent. But there is nothing left for us here. A&J Stephens Magical Marketplace is _dead_. And the hard truth is that it has been dead for a very long time.

"I've been using my Muggle Associates Degree in Business Administration to work here and there through Temp Agencies. Janelle – a _Hogwarts Graduate_ , for cryin' out loud – has been working part-time at the Dairy Queen next to the Hardee's that we just left a few hours ago. And it _still_ isn't enough to make ends meet. But there is a possible solution . . . .

"My in-laws want us to move in with them; they want us to move to New Orleans, Louisiana. There will be plenty of opportunities for Janelle to put her Hogwarts Diploma to good use in Our World there. As for me, there are Temp Agencies all over that I can get work at.

"And who knows? I don't have a formal Wizarding Education, Reg. But MACUSA has not rescinded The Draft they invoked when Storybrooke came through from the Enchanted Realms back in '83, and I'm still registered. I might get lucky and get some kind of job with the FBS – not as an Auror; you couldn't pay me enough to do that. But maybe they need a Wizard in procurement, or something like that. It wouldn't pay much, of course. But then, I wouldn't feel so useless." Reg nodded. As a Wizarding Civil Servant himself, he could relate.

Adam took another drink, and said, "My _real_ fear is facing my father-in- law for any extended period of time. He never forgave me for "getting his little girl in a family way" _before_ we got married. Do you know that for the first few years of our marriage, he demanded that I address him as Colonel Facilier? I can't imagine what he's going to be like when we are all together under the same roof 24/7 . . . ."

Reg shrugged. "Well, if I were him, I would admire your courage for making a decision that is not coming easily for you. What's that American expression? Taking one for the team?"

"That is the traditional saying here."

Reg smiled. "Oh, you Yanks don't have "traditions;" you have "habits."

The two Wizards chuckled, made a final toast to friendship, finishing their drinks, and started to get back into the Pacer when two dirty, wet barefoot children suddenly burst from the woods a few yards ahead of them, followed seconds later by a fat teenage wizard on a broom with a split shaft coming after them.


	13. Umbridge Triumphant

**Chapter 13: Umbridge Triumphant**

The fat teenage wizard pursuing the frightened children struggled to control his damaged broom as he screamed, "STOP RUNNING FROM ME, YOU LITTLE BRATS!"

That was more than Adam and Reg needed to know: their children were in danger from the boy on the broom. In less than a second, both wizards had their wands out and simultaneously hit the boy with a stunning spell, throwing him from the damaged broom that then dropped out of the sky and onto the road when relieved of its rider. The boy hit the ground and rolled a few times before landing face-up on the road. Not giving the boy any chance to regain his senses, Reg said, "Accio wand!" and the boy's wand flew from his Hogwarts blazer pocket to Reg, who caught it smoothly.

Adam made it to the fallen boy in three strides. He grabbed the dazed teen wizard by the lapels of his school blazer, and hauled him to his feet, forcing him hard against the side of the yellow Pacer with an audible thud. "Why," said Adam in a menacing tone that made Reg shiver slightly. "Why were you chasing my son and my friend's daughter?"

"Go to _Hades_ ," spat the boy. "You sodden blood-traitor!"

"Adam," said Reg, thinking that his friend was about to physically assault the boy. "If he won't talk, let's ask our children, then.

"Maisie, why was this boy chasing you and Matthew?"

At Reg's question, both Maisie and Matt began talking simultaneously about how the teenage wizard came on them while they were setting the crawfish traps and tried to entice them to go with him, and when they refused, he became belligerent, and tried to force them to go with him.

When they were done, Maisie added, "Thank G-d you and Mr. Stephens were here when we ran out of the forest or that boy would have gotten us! And he definitely _would have_ gotten us if Matt hadn't been so _brave_ when he knocked the boy off of his broom with a crawfish trap!" Maisie's last comment made Matt smile from ear to ear.

Adam nodded, not taking his eyes off the boy he held against the car, and said, "Alright, kid. Let's try something simple. What's your name?"

Through gritted teeth, the boy said, "Crabbe. Vincent Crabbe. I'm a Pureblood Wizard and I'm in Slytherin House at Hogwarts!"

"Well _la-dee-da_ for you . . . ," said Adam dryly. Still keeping his eyes on Crabbe, Adam said, "What happened next, Matt?"

"Oh, man, dad!" said Matt, still grinning from ear-to-ear when Maisie said that she thought that he was "brave." "You and Mr. Cattermole should 'a been there! It was _totally awesome_!

"That Slytherin punk came after us on his broom through the woods when he lost an argument with a low tree branch that smacked him upside his head and laid him out flat and totaling his ride!"

"W-what did your son just say, Adam?" said Reg.

"Gimmie a sec Reg." Adam grinned slightly, glanced to his son and said, "Angleloquitium," and then twitched his nose, making the air around his son's head sparkle. "Alright, Matt, say it again for Mr. Cattermole. But be quick about it. This charm won't last long . . . ."

"Too right, father," said Matt, who turned to Reg and said, "Bally Slithie pranged his Sweepie right in the How's-Your-Father! Hairy blighter dicky-birdied, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harpers, and caught his can in the Bertie!"

Reg blinked and shook his head. "I - I don't think that I quite follow you, Matthew . . . ."

"It's perfectly ordinary banter, sir," said Matt, trying again. "Bally _Slithie_ . . . pranged his _Sweepie_ . . . ."

"Ah, that's enough, son," said Adam shaking his head. "I guess Reg doesn't speak "Monty Python."

"I spoke to a python I met at a zoo, once, Mr. Stephens," said Maisie offhandedly. "He told me that about six years ago, a boy my age made the Perspex barrier of his enclosure vanish and he was able to get out of it and go for a bit of a stroll. He asked me if I could do the same for him, but I said that I didn't think my powers were strong enough, yet."

His father's charm wore off, and Matt said, "So, what do we do now, dad?"

"I dunno," said Adam, relaxing a bit. "But whatever it is, I'd better do this, first." He then twitched his nose, and said, "Incarcerous." At his command, ropes appeared and bound Vincent Crabbe firmly. Adam was going to shove Crabbe into the back seat of the Pacer, but hesitated when he remembered that the back seat was full of groceries and supplies that would need to be moved out of the way, first.

Before Adam could ask his son and Maisie to move the stuff in the back seat to the cargo area, he noticed the end of a piece of parchment sticking out of Crabbe's blazer pocket. Adam took it and unfolded the parchment, gave it a quick once-over, shook his head in disbelief, and then handed it to Reg, saying, "Check it out, Reg. You and Mary are _famous_ . . . ."

Reg looked at the parchment, and said, "Bloody hell . . . ."

Maisie said, "What is it, dad?" Her father handed the parchment to her, and Matt looked on and read along with his friend. Both children blinked. The parchment looked like an old-fashioned 'wanted poster' from the Old West or something, complete with moving (and very unflattering,) wizarding photos of Mr. and Mrs. Cattermole.

Matt could hardly believe what he was seeing. The charges listed were as numerous as they were self-evidently ridiculous, and included "Theft of Magic from a True Witch and/or Wizard;" "Flight from Justice;" and even, for some crazy reason, three counts of kidnapping. And at the very bottom of the parchment, a reward for ten thousand galleons – dead or alive - was offered for each. An ominous line just below the reward amount was a reminder that the UK's Ministry of Magic has declared the Cattermole adults to be "Wolf's Heads." Matt had no idea what that even meant, but he did not like the sound of it.

"Woah, Reg," said Adam. "According to this, you and Mary are the 'Bonnie and Clyde' of Our World, or something!" Adam then turned back to Crabbe, and said, "So, you thought that you could get rich quick by playing bounty-hunter. What was your plan, to hold our kids hostage in exchange for Reg and Mary?" Vincent did not say anything. He just looked at Adam defiantly, but with a grin that was one part sly and two parts stupid.

Reg folded the parchment up and slipped it into his pocket. "Right, I reckon your Aurors will want to see this when they come to pick up Mr. Crabbe, here."

"No doubt," said Adam, shaking his head. "Alright, let's get back home. We'll call the FBS when we get there, and then _they_ can send over an Auror to deal with this punk.

"Matt? Would you and Maisie try to cram the stuff in the back seat into the cargo area? The two of you will ride up front with me while Mr. Cattermole sits in the back to keep an eye on our "passenger." Now, about the punk's broom . . . we can't leave it here in the street . . . ." Adam twitched his nose, levitating the broken broom onto the roof rack of the Pacer. Another nose-twitch and cords appeared, tying the broom securely to the rack. Moments later, everyone was aboard, and Adam started the Pacer, pulling it back onto the road.

"You two did a very good job packing the stuff in the back seat in the cargo area," said Adam, driving slowly because Matt and Maisie were not belted in since they had to share the right front bucket seat.

"No problem," said Matt, still grinning from Maisie's earlier compliment. "I told you that all those hours playing Tetris was not a waste of time . . . ." Matt caught a glimpse of Maisie in his peripheral vision, and she was smiling. She thought what he said was cute! Matt couldn't believe what was happening; he was actually _impressing_ a girl with his wit! But how to keep the ball rolling . . . ?

Matt turned around, kneeling on the seat to face the rear, and looked straight at Vincent Crabbe as Mr. Cattermole held the magically bound teen wizard at wandpoint. Adam saw what he was doing, and told his son to sit back down right. Matt would not disobey his father, but first he had something to say to the punk that tried to hurt him and Maisie.

Fixing Vincent Crabbe with a neutral look, Matt said, "That's a pretty sweet ride you got, Vincent. A _Nimbus 2001_! Of course, you won't get much use out of it in Miss Penn, will you?

"You know what, dad? I think we should keep it after the Aurors haul his ass away."

Adam could have responded to his son in many ways. In the end, he just said, "It's just trash, son. The shaft is cracked, beyond repair. Now, sit down right."

" _Please_ sit down, Matt," said Maisie with quiet urgency.

But Matt did not move, and said, "I bet that Greatgran Endora cold fix it easily with a quick twitch of her nose. Then we can paint the shaft mile-deep black automotive lacquer with hand-painted flames on the front and redo the bristles and send the brass fittings out to be chromed!

"Man, when I go to Randolph Carter a year from now, I'll have the most _badass_ ride there!"

"Yeah, son," said Adam. "There is only one flaw in your otherwise flawless plan. The broom on the car roof is not yours. It belongs to young Mr. Crabbe, here."

Matt protested, "But dad, that punk –"

"Son, whatever he may have done or tried to do; Stephenses do not steal. And even though he is a punk, he is still an adult, and you will address him as such if you must address him at all." _At least_ , thought Adam, _Mr. Vincent Crabbe here is going to be_ tried _as an_ adult _, if I have anything to say about it._

"So, do I make myself clear, son? No matter what he wanted to do to you and Maisie; two wrongs don't make a right. Now, sit down properly in your seat, I won't ask you again!"

But before Matt could start to turn around, Vincent Crabbe just smiled at him. "I like this boy. He thinks like a Slytherin, he does. That's the Zabini in him talking, and no mistake."

"You're wrong," said Matt flatly. "I'm not a Slytherin or a "Zabini," whatever that is! My dad's right, we Stephenses _don't_ steal! You can keep your lousy pile of kindling; good luck getting it back into the air ever again!" Then Matt turned around to face forward in his seat, only vaguely aware of Maisie touching his arm reassuringly.

They continued in silence for another minute or so. Then Matt said, "Dad, what did he mean about me being a "Zabini." What's a Zabini, anyway?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, son," said Adam.

Never taking his eyes off of Crabbe, Reg said, "Zabini" is the surname of an old, Pureblood Wizarding Family in the UK, Matthew. They are ancient, and _very_ wealthy. They can trace their ancestry back to the sorcerers of Ancient Egypt; specifically to a mage named Jannes who served the Pharaoh at the time of the Exodus – or so they claim."

"Are we related to the Zabini Family, dad?"

"Not that I am aware of, son," said Adam shaking his head. "I'm sure that I would have remembered my Grandma Endora mentioning something about it if we were."

Again, Matt turned around in the seat he shared with Maisie to face the bound teen wizard, and – remembering what his dad had told him earlier - said, "See? You're wrong, Mr. Crabbe. We're _not_ Zabinis."

"Not by _blood_ , maybe," said Crabbe. "But soon . . . ."

"Turn back around and face forward, son," said Adam. He then changed his tone, and said, "And _you_ back there; do not talk to my son ever again! Got it? Good!" Without saying another word, Adam turned off of Midshipman Road and onto their driveway.

Matt looked down at himself and Maisie. They were both still damp and smelling of creek water, with drying mud on their arms, legs and bare feet. _My Air Jordans had better still be where I had to leave them_ , thought Matt. "Sorry about me and Maisie getting mom's seat all skanky, dad."

"That's alright, son," said Adam. "It might actually be a blessing in disguise."

Still not taking his eyes off of Vincent, Reg said, "How so, Adam?"

"We might be able to talk our way out of helping to clean the house for dinner tonight," said Adam. "You and I will tell Jan and Mary that we have to clean the interior of Jan's car. If we do a full detailing job, that should take us all the way to dinner. That beats cleaning the house, any day." _And besides_ , thought Adam, _we still have four bottles left . . . ._

"Can Maisie and me help, dad?"

"Sorry son. Your moms probably have work planned for the two of you before you have to check on the traps – after you wash up, that is – hey, hold-up! What's going on, here . . . ?"

Matt shrugged and said, "Well, I had to try, dad, didn't I?"

Adam said, "No, not you, son. What are all those _trucks_ doing in front of our house . . . ?"

"Hey, dad," said Matt. "I can see some people in the back yard. What are they doing, here?"

"I don't know, son," said Adam. "Unless the landlord has scheduled some kind of maintenance that he forgot to tell us about; your mom and sure I didn't hire anyone for anything. But I intend to find out . . . ."

Adam stopped the Pacer in front of the house, and got out. Both Matt and Maisie jumped out next, followed by Reg, who turned to Vincent Crabbe, who was still bound by magical ropes in the back seat, and said dryly, "Wait here, there's a good boy," before following Adam and the children to the Stephenses back yard.

The four mages went around to the back to see about a dozen muggle workmen in the process of cleaning up. Then Adam noticed their outdoor brick barbecue pit. The waist-high wall was now a brick structure about eight feet high with a large, arched opening at the front.

Maisie moved closer to her father and the two watched gobsmacked as Adam dropped an F-Bomb, said, "I'll handle this!" and went brusquely over to the workmen with Matt close behind him. The workmen had their tools and were heading back to their trucks when Adam confronted the one who appeared to be the foreman, bombarding him with a barrage of questions. But the foreman said nothing in reply, and instead, spoke only to direct his departing crew.

Reg said, "Adam, I think that they are ensorcelled. It looks like the _Imperius Curse_ , and no mistake!"

But Adam barely heard his friend as he looked over their backyard barbecue grille. Since moving in, the Stephenses had used it several times a month making 'burgers and pork steaks and ribs. But now, it looked more like an outdoor walk-in closet; good luck using it for a cookout, now. And then Adam felt a chill when he realized what the workmen had done.

Adam said, "R-Reg, kids . . . I think that I just screwed-up even bigger than I ever have before . . . . Everyone, let's get back to the car and get out of here!"

"But what about mom and Evie?" said Matt. "And Maisie's mom and brother and sister? Are they alright?"

"We'll find out as soon as we get clear of the house and call the FBS!" said Adam. "Man, I must be the world's biggest _idiot_ to think that a dumb goon like Crabbe could possibly be working _alone_ . . . !"

The two wizards and their kids made their way back to the front yard and Janelle's Pacer. The workmen and their trucks were gone, but Crabbe was there, unbound, standing between them and the car, and he was not alone. Standing next to him was a teenage witch, her dark hair in a short bob cut, wand at the ready. And she looked equal parts angry and scared spitless.

The teen witch pointed her wand at Adam and Reg, commanding them to drop their wands. As she did this, Crabbe said, "Accio wand!" Crabbe's wand jumped from Reg's jacket pocket, and over to Crabbe, who barely managed to catch it.

The teen witch shook her head, and said dryly, "Brilliant Vincent. No wonder you made the Quidditch team . . . ."

Adam said, "Listen, Miss . . . ."

"It's _Parkinson_ ," spat the girl. "Pansy Parkinson. N-now step away from those children and drop your wands, _NOW_!"

"What are you going to do to our kids?"

" _Your_ kids?" said Pansy incredulously. " _Your_ kids?! You can stop the dissembling, you filthy blood-traitors! Your game is up! Now drop your wands or I'll use a _Cruciatus Curse_ ; I won't be asking you nicely again!"

"That's asking us nicely . . . ?" said Adam. But the girl did not reply. Instead, she struck Adam with a _Petrificus Totalus_ curse while Crabbe simultaneously hit Reg with an Incarcerous spell. The two immobilized wizards fell to the ground with a thud.

For the third time in a week, Matt grabbed Maisie's hand and pulled her in the direction of the woods, hoping to lose the teenagers. Only this time, he did not have to tell Maisie to run. The two ten year olds made it about five yards before their way was blocked by the teen mages, who apparated directly in front of them. It was over before it began when Maisie was caught by Pansy and Matt ran directly into the solid wall that was Vincent Crabbe.

Pansy had Maisie firmly by her arm, but Matt struggled against Crabbe; kicking and screaming wildly. To everyone's surprise, Matt squirmed free of Vincent's grip, and then turned towards the girls to try and separate Maisie from Pansy by charging between them as he would in a game of "Red-Rover" during gym class. But before he could take three steps, Vincent grabbed him by the back of his tee-shirt, jerking Matt to a stop. Vincent then spun the hapless boy around, setting him up for a hard punch to his stomach.

"NO!" commanded Pansy. "Do not harm that poor boy. It's not his fault! He doesn't know what he's doing! He's frightened and confused, he is!"

"The little twerp hurt me!" whined Vincent.

"Not as badly as _Blaise_ will if he finds out that you beat-up his little brother," said Pansy flatly.

"I'M _NOBODY'S_ "LITTLE BROTHER!" screamed Matt. But other than Vincent pulling Matt to his feet and holding him firmly, the teen mages ignored him.

"So, what now?" said Vincent.

Pansy sighed with exasperation, and said, "Now, we take these two to see Madame Undersecretary Umbridge." Vincent was about to say something, but Pansy continued, "We come back for these two later on," she nodded to Adam and Reg, " _Obviously_ . . . ."

Holding Matt firmly, Vincent followed Pansy and Maisie to the Stephenses front door. As he passed the supine forms of Adam Stephens and Reginald Cattermole, an idea dawned on him. Pausing by Reg, Vincent grinned widely, and said, "Wait here, there's a good boy," before pushing Matt forward to catch up with the girls.

When they reached the front door, Matt suppressed a shudder. The last time that Matt Stephens was afraid to enter his own front door was almost a year ago when he had forgotten to do an assignment that he had been given by his teacher earlier that week, and had to take a note to his parents asking that they call her.

In retrospect, Matt realized that his fear had been silly of him. His parents had been firm with him, but fair. His only "punishment" had been to complete the missed assignment over the upcoming weekend before he could play or watch television. And when he came back the following Monday after school with a solid "B" on the assignment, (the highest grade possible for an assignment turned in late,) all was forgiven after Matt promised to never forget a school assignment ever again.

But this time, everything was different. Matt had no idea what he would see when he went through that familiar doorway. With a dismissive swish and flick of her wand, Pansy Parkinson said, "Alohomora," and the door swung open, allowing them to enter without breaking stride like the doors at the local supermarket.

The teens then led Matt and Maisie into the very heart of the Stephenses home: The combination living and dining room with its connected kitchen. Off to the side, the two ten-year-olds caught a glimpse of their moms who, like their dads, had been immobilized via incarcerous and full-body petrification spells and leaned against the living room wall to keep them upright. Without realizing it Matt must have hesitated a fraction of a second too long because Vincent gave him a firm shove from behind to keep him moving forward.

When they finally reached the kitchen table and stopped, Matt swallowed hard. The table was now covered with papers – no, Matt realized. Not papers; parchments - parchments and old-fashioned quill pens and an inkwell. Other items included an abacus and a wax seal stamp set. Matt had seen items like these for sale these in his mom's and dad's store, but he rarely saw any of them in regular use.

Most American wizards and witches used modern bond paper and ballpoint pens for regular correspondence and electronic pocket calculators (though the truly powerful mages like his Greatgran Endora still had to use abacuses to make calculations – their stray magic would fry electronic pocket calculators.) Nowadays, parchment, bottle ink, and sealing wax were still used by American wizards and witches only for official documents and correspondences.

The only familiar thing remaining on the Stephenses table was the cooler of iced tea that was always on the table for as long as Matt could remember, and that was pushed off to the side to make way for everything else. But the main reason the cooler caught Matt's attention was that someone very odd looking was attempting to fill a cup of tea from it. That struck Matt as odd. Who drinks iced tea from a _cup_ . . . ?

The witch trying to get some of Matt's mom's iced tea was short, plump and dressed in a ridiculous outfit in varying shades of pink. She was so intent on trying to figure out how to work the spigot of the cooler, that she either did not notice, or pretended not to notice, that the four youths were standing before her. When the witch finally managed to fill her cup, she let out a squeal of girlish triumph that then turned to a gag and a grimace as she tasted the tea, and promptly set the cup aside with ostentatious disgust.

The pink witch then took a seat at the table, finally acknowledging the presence of the two teens and two ten-year-olds with a funny "Hem-Hem" sound.

With unabashed triumph, Pansy said, "Madame Undersecretary Umbridge. May I present the children who think that they are "Matthew Stephens" and "Maisie Cattermole."

The Pink Witch smiled at them; a sickeningly-sweet smile that made Matt and Maisie both feel their hearts jump into their throats. There was only one person that this could be; the infamous Dolores Umbridge, head of the dreaded Muggle Born Registration Commission that had put Maisie's mom on trial for "stealing magic."

Matt was afraid. Though this witch looked ridiculous in her girly-pink outfit, she was apparently powerful enough to overpower their parents and take his' and Maisie's families prisoner in their own home. At that thought, Matt felt _another_ emotion competing for center-stage with his initial fright: anger. Matt planted his fists defiantly on his hips in a "Superman" pose, scowled at the Pink Witch, and said, "OK, lady, who are you and what have you done to our parents and sisters and Maisie's little brother . . . ?"

The Pink Witch's expression shifted from a beaming smile to mild disgust as she eyed the children brought before her. The main reason for her revulsion was, of course, because they _were_ children (and ten-year-old children at that.) But in addition to Matt and Maisie being children, they were children who were dressed in little more than rags, barefoot, dirty, wet and smelly. And to top it all off, the boy was insufferably insolent. Well, Umbridge expected as much; especially from a boy raised as an American. Hopefully the Obliviators and Memory Modifiers can do something about that ridiculous accent of his, as well . . . .

Dolores fixed the boy with a stern expression, and said, "My dear, poor little boy, I have done _nothing_ at all to your "parents." But if you really want to find out the fate of your real mum and dad, then I would suggest asking the people who you have been addressing as such over the past ten years."

Matt shook his head, and said, "Huh . . .?"

The Pink Witch's smile returned. "My dear boy, I have the misfortune of being the one shouldered with the grim responsibility of informing you and your friend here that you are _not_ who you think you are. You and your sister and this girl and her siblings are the children of Pureblooded Wizarding Families that were _kidnapped_ by the people you have been mistakenly addressing as mum and dad.

"As for the fate of your _true_ parents, it is very likely that they were _murdered_ by your blood traitor "fathers" and the mudblood magic stealing whores that they married that you poor darlings have been calling "mummy" for as long as you can remember."

Matt shook his head vigorously. "What have you been _smoking_ , lady? Our moms and dads are our moms and dads! They didn't kidnap us; they _had_ us! And if you were a dude instead of a lady, I'd clobber you for saying that about my mom! Now take it back!"

"No, my dear boy," said Umbridge shaking her head condescendingly. "We have _proof_ that the two of you and the children being kept safe in the next room were stolen from Pureblooded Wizarding Families.

"Now, while we do not know which families you were taken from, we can do the next best thing and see to it that your kidnappers are properly punished and that you and the other children are properly placed with new, loving pureblood families of impeccable bloodlines!"

"The Zabini family," said Matt jerking his head to Vincent behind him. "That's what tubby here meant when he said that I was some kid named Blaise's "little brother." And what kind of name for a guy is "Blaise," anyway?" Vincent tightened his grip on Matt's arm, but Matt was too mad to flinch, no matter how much it hurt.

Returning his full attention to the Pink Witch sitting at his mom's kitchen table, Matt said, "It won't work, lady! When my Grandma Samantha and my Greatgran Endora find out, then you and Augustus Gloop and Veruca Salt here are really gonna be in for a big-time beatdown!"

"By the time those two blood-traitors notice that you are missing, the deed will have been done," said Umbridge with exaggerated pleasantness. "Your kidnappers will have been punished, and you and the other children will be safely with your new families none-the-wiser of your traumatic pasts."

"Have you blown a gasket, lady?" said Matt, his defiance laced with a tincture of worry. "You and these punks are just one locator spell away from being into it up to your necks!"

Umbridge let out an impatient sigh. "My dear boy, you _don't_ have the slightest idea of _how_ a locator spell actually _works_ , do you . . . ?"

"Duh," said Matt rolling his eyes. "It magically locks-in on a person's DNA to find them."

Umbridge raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, is this "deeanay" that you speak of, young man?"

"Uh, it's the building blocks of life, you Big Pink Dorcus!" said Matt. " _Everybody's_ DNA is _unique_ , and when the FBS Aurors track us down with a locator spell –"

"You really have no idea of how a locator spell works, do you, little boy?" said Umbridge shaking her head pedantically. "Then please allow me to enlighten you. A locator spell is _not_ dependent on "deeanay," or other form of dubious muggle science.

"A locator spell finds a person by who they know they are. But in a few hours, you will no longer "know" that you are "Matthew Starr Stephens." When the Obliviators and Memory Modifiers are done with you, you will henceforth be known to yourself and to all as "Maxim Zabini."

"Maxim . . . ?" Matt Stephens had no comeback, and stammered as he tried his best to come up with one. Then Umbridge then turned to Maisie, and said, "And as for _you_ , young lady; you shall have the supremely good fortune to become my very own _Parselmouth daughter_!"

"NEVER, YOU FAT, UGLY PINK TOAD!" Maisie spat. "I WON'T GO ALONG WITH YOUR MAD SCHEME!"

"I'll forgive your ingratitude for now," said Umbridge evenly, "because you don't know any better. But in a few hours, you _will_ be my dutiful, respectful daughter, _Felicia Umbridge_ , and you will not remember your little outburst, nor ever even think of subjecting me to such language from now on!"

Maisie stammered, "F-Felicia . . .?"

"Oh, I hate seeing the two of you this way! It absolutely _disgusts_ me!" said Umbridge. The Pink Witch removed a short wand from her jacket pocket and gave her wand a swish and flick as she uttered an enchantment. Matt and Maisie braced themselves. But instead of feeling themselves slipping away, they felt a tingle all over. When they looked down, they saw that they were now clean and that their clothes felt freshly washed, as well.

"Better . . . ?" said Umbridge. "You may rest assured, Felicia, that unlike your so-called "mum and dad," that I would never permit you to go outside filthy, barefoot and in rags! Unlike them, I can afford to put decent clothes on your back and shoes on your feet!

"And as for you, Maxim, you may rest assured that the Zabinis will see that you are properly dressed and shod and that you never play in a filthy open sewer ever again!"

Matt finally found his voice. "That wasn't any open sewer, lady! That creek is clean! Dad says it handles runoff when it rains and the sewer pipes are underground and separate! Besides, we weren't _playing_ in the creek! We were setting traps to catch crawfish for our dinner tonight!"

"Oh, now everything is clear." Umbridge shook her head sympathetically at Matt. "Dressed in rags, barefoot, and being sent by your "parents" to forage for food? You are most fortunate that I arrived in such a timely manner!

"And now," Umbridge turned her attention to Pansy and Vincent. "Would the two of you be so kind as to put Felicia and Maxim with the others, and then bring the blood traitors inside?"

Without another word, Vincent and Pansy all but frog-marched Matt and Maisie down the hallway to the master bedroom where Evie, Ellie and Alfred were undoubtedly waiting for them.


	14. Good Luck and Bad Luck

**Chapter 14: Good Luck and Bad Luck**

The first thing that Matt Stephens noticed as Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson forced him and Maisie down the hallway was that the door to his parents' bedroom was missing. Not 'missing' as in removed from its hinges and put somewhere else, but missing as in not there, anymore. In its place was a dead end hallway. Before Matt could ask what had happened, Pansy flourished her wand, spoke an incantation, and the door reappeared. Impressed in spite of himself, Matt said, "Whoa . . . !"

"You'll both learn how to do that and more when you attend Hogwarts next year," said Pansy in a more pleasant voice than she had spoken to them in earlier. "I'm truly sorry that we have to hold you against your wishes in this manner. But as you are still living under the erroneous assumption that you are the children of your _kidnappers_ , this has to be done for your own safety."

"Right," said Vincent. "Now take heed: this bedroom has its own loo, so there will be no whining to us to be let out to use the crapper or to ask for a sip of water – you'll have _both_ right where you are. You also have a big bed if any of you get tired and want to kip. We also left you with some food and some games, so there will be absolutely no reason for us to come and get you until it is time to begin your new lives. So you might just as well make the best of it."

" _Screw_ you!" said Matt defiantly. Vincent responded with a punch to the boy's stomach. Vincent did not use all his strength; just enough to knock the wind (and cheek) out of this insolent little colonial twit. Surprised, Matt fell to his knees, clutching his belly and gasping as he tried to catch his breath. Maisie wrenched herself free from Pansy's grip, and went to Matt's side to see if he was alright. The boy turned away from her to hide the fact that he was crying.

Pansy rounded to Vincent. "You bloody _imbecile_! When _Blaise_ finds out –"

"How's he going to find out, then, Pansy? Are you planning on _telling_ him, because this little tosser sure as Tartarus won't remember a thing about it when the Obliviators are done with him!"

"That's not the _point_ , Vincent! This is boy is to be our friend's little brother!" Pansy insisted.

"Bollocks on that!" spat Vincent. "Besides, he'll get _worse_ when he has Dark Arts class with the Carrows!"

"As a _Zabini_?!" said Pansy incredulously. "Not bloody likely! Both Maxim and Felicia here will undoubtedly be groomed to be Hogwarts _Prefects_ , if not Head Boy and Girl, and no mistake!

"Mark me well, Vincent. You so much as lay _another_ hand on that poor boy, and I _will_ let Blaise know!"

"I'll do what I bloody well please to keep these brats in line!" spat Vincent defiantly. "Don't think that just because your family claims membership in _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_ that that gives you the right to –"

"No, it doesn't," said Pansy evenly. "However, Madame Undersecretary Umbridge did see fit to declare _me_ to be second in command of this rescue mission; not _you_. You are here solely to provide necessary force, if needed – force that will not be used haphazardly in any way that might harm the children!"

As the teens argued, Maisie tried to help Matt to his feet, but the preteen wizard roughly shook her hand off, telling her through gritted teeth against the pain, "I don't need any help, _OK_ . . . ?"

Maisie did not reply, and instantly Matt felt bad about refusing his friend's help when he realized that in another couple of hours, He would probably forget that he even knew her at all . . . .

Pansy opened the door and she and Vincent made the two ten year old mages get inside. Once they were in, Pansy waived her wand and transfigured the door back into part of the wall, sealing them in with the other three children; one of whom would soon become her very own little sister, Hyacinth.

For a moment, Pansy stopped to wonder which of the two girls would have the supreme honor of joining the House of Parkinson as her new little sister. That decision, of course, would be up to Madame Undersecretary Umbridge. But if it is to be the one called "Evie Stephens," then the Obliviators would have extra work cut out for them.

Pansy knew that she was all but certain to marry into the Malfoy family and because Draco is friends with Blaise Zabini, their families would spend a lot of time together. Because of this, an extra geas would be needed to make Hyacinth and Maxim dislike each other, lest brother and sister inadvertently become romantically involved.

Of course, that would probably need to be done _regardless_ since both of the "Stephens" children would be attending Hogwarts, anyway. Smiling with self-satisfaction, Pansy made a mental-note to herself to mention her concern to Madame Undersecretary Umbridge at the first opportunity . . . .

The second after being shoved into his parents' bedroom, Matt Stephens turned around to face the door that soon became part of the wall. Still sobbing, he kicked the wall in frustration, not so much from having the wind knocked out of him by that high school bully – he got worse when stopping a soccer ball in gym class, once – but from being made to cry in front of his friend; a friend who just so happened to be a girl.

Worse, Matt knew that he had all but asked for it. He had tried to look cool for Maisie by telling Vincent Crabbe off the way he did. Sure, he expected the older boy to do something like shove him into the bedroom harder than he would have done otherwise. But after what the teen witch had said, Matt did not expect the punk to gut-punch him. But even worse than getting sucker-punched, Matt had taken his frustrations out on Maisie by turning away from her when she was just trying to help, and that was just plain wrong.

Matt turned to apologize to Maisie, but before he could say anything, he felt himself getting a big, bear-hug from his little sister and saw that Maisie's younger sister and brother were giving her the same.

Evie said, "Matt . . . y-you're _crying_ . . . . What did they do to you?"

Before Matt could reply, Maisie said, "That fat kid punched your brother in his stomach _really_ hard before he and that girl forced us in here because your brother stood up to him."

"T-thanks, Maisie . . . ," said Matt quietly.

"Thank me later, when we are out of this sticky-wicket," said Maisie evenly. She then turned to her siblings and Evie, and said, "Right. Now, what happened here while we were gone?"

Just as Matt and Maisie had done when asked what happened to them by their fathers earlier, Ellie, Albert and Evie began talking at the same time, but Maisie would have none of it. She told everyone to stop talking; using the same tone her teacher did at school to quiet a rambunctious classroom. When the younger kids obeyed, she then turned to her sister Ellie and repeated her question.

Ellie Cattermole then told her older sister and Evie's brother that after they had left to set the crawfish traps, that those two teen mages came to their door, claiming to be muggle-borns who were on the run from snatchers. Then, after their mums let them in, they overpowered them with magic and then the mean grown-up witch dressed all in pink arrived. "That's when they locked us here in Mr. and Missus Stephens' bedroom."

When Ellie was done, Evie then added, "But first they removed the door and the windows with magic so we couldn't escape, and took all the mirrors out so we couldn't call anyone for help!"

Feeling more composed, Matt then told his sister, Ellie and Alfred what happened to him and Maisie. He began from the time Vincent Crabbe tried to make them come with him, and ended with what happened when they got back to the house.

Maisie said, "That's when those two Slytherins cursed our dads before we could get away and call for help. Then they caught Matt and I, and brought us to face Madame Undersecretary Umbridge." Maisie then looked at each of the younger children in turn, and added, "Did they tell you why they are doing this to us . . . ?"

Ellie said, "T-they said that mum and dad aren't our "real parents;" that mum and dad . . . m-murdered our "real, pureblood parents." But I know that isn't true!"

"Too bloody right it isn't true." Maisie said firmly. "But it might as well be true if we don't get out of here quick, and no mistake. They mentioned bringing in Obliviators and Memory Modifiers. Once they curse us with new memories; we won't stand a chance!"

Matt thought for a moment, and said, "We've got to get out of here before that happens. We don't have a door or windows, but maybe we can cut our way through that wall and into my room on the other side. From there, we can get out of the window in my room."

Maisie blinked. "How are we going to go through a _solid wall_ , then?"

Matt shrugged. "It's just drywall nailed over a two-by-four frame. Last year, I helped dad put a curio cabinet in Evie's room's wall. It cuts pretty easy. All we need is a decent utility knife to cut our way through."

Maisie raised an eyebrow. "You've cut this 'drywall' before, then?"

"Uh, no," admitted Matt. "My dad cut it. I was too young to use a utility knife, back then. I just did the cleanup. But I saw dad do it, and I know how. I think dad has a small toolkit in here, somewhere; in the closet, or under the bed. Everybody start looking."

Without another word, the kids all fanned-out, searching the room anywhere big enough to hold a toolkit. Matt looked under his parents' bed while Maisie searched the closet and Evie, Ellie and Alfred went from drawer to drawer, searching the dresser and both nightstands.

As Matt looked under the bed, his eyes went wide when he saw the last thing that he expected to see; especially after his parents' room was tossed to turn it into a prison cell for the kids. Sure, his dad told him about _it_ , and even showed _it_ to him once; but he also told his son and daughter to not look for _it_ and to not so much as touch _it_ if they _did_ manage to find _it_ accidentally . . . .

Matt was scared. But if there was ever a time when he had to disobey his parents, this was it. Trembling slightly, Matt reached for _it_ , but before he could touch _it_ , he heard Maisie say, "Matt, I think I found what you wanted."

Seconds later, Matt was out from under the bed, and on his feet. Maisie handed him a small toolkit in a black plastic tackle box. Matt opened it and smiled. A utility knife with a retractable blade was sitting right on top. Matt went over to the wall separating his parents' room from his own, got to his knees, and pushed the slide to extend the blade until it clicked, locking into place.

Matt turned to Maisie and said, "My dad told me that when cutting drywall; it is best to make several light cuts instead of one heavy cut. "There is no "Royal Road" to doing a good, neat job with drywall," he told me." But as Matt drew the knife over the wall, he frowned. He tried again, shaking his head in disbelief.

Maisie said, "Neatness does not count in this case, Matt. Just cut the bloody wall so we can get out of here!"

"I'm trying," said Matt. "But every time I try, the cut seals itself up! I wonder if Vincent and Pansy or that Umbridge lady put some kind of protection spell on the room."

Evie said, "Wait, Matt. Remember a few years ago when we were drawing on the wall with crayons? Mom and dad put a spell on the walls to keep us from drawing on them or damaging them in any way."

"But last year, I helped dad cut the drywall in your room to install that in-wall curio cabinet," said Matt. "The wall cut fine for _him_."

"Matt," said Maisie, "Did your dad say something like, _finite incantatem_ , or something like that before he cut the wall?"

"N-no . . . ," said Matt thinking. "He just marked out a line where he wanted to cut, and then cut the drywall square out of the wall . . . hey, wait a minute . . . ." Matt retracted the blade, set the knife down, and went back to the toolbox. He did not have to search long until he found a pencil. He then went back to the wall and drew an experimental line where he wanted to cut, but the line disappeared as soon as he drew it. Matt sighed in frustration.

Maisie said, "Matt, did your dad use a _ruler_ to draw the lines before he cut the wall out? Maybe the protection spell only works on things you draw freehanded."

"That makes sense," said Matt nodding. "Dad _did_ use a ruler to mark out the cut before he did it." Again, Matt went back to the toolbox, but in his dismay, he could not find a ruler; just a cloth tape measure. But it was better than nothing, so Matt had Maisie hold the tape measure tight over the wall as Matt tried to draw a straight line to cut. But again, the line – which was not perfectly straight – vanished as Matt drew it. "It's no use. We probably need a _real_ ruler, or something . . . ." Matt sighed, turning his back to the wall and sliding down in a sitting position. His mind raced. Maybe if they could find a straight piece of wood or metal, and used the tape measure to mark out a ruler on it, that might get around the protection spell that his mom and dad put on the walls.

Matt scanned the room for something that could be used to make a ruler. Their captors had been thorough when they removed anything that could be used to _magically_ help them escape or call for help. But if what he saw under the bed was any indication, Team Umbridge was very sloppy when it came to _muggle_ items. Matt said, "Did any of you see a ruler in any of the drawers or anything that could be used to make a ruler?" To Matt's frustration Evie, Ellie and Alfred all said that they had not.

Matt was about to sigh again, but then he saw the items left for them by their captors on the dresser. There was the food; a basket of rustic bread, fruit and cheese wrapped in waxed paper. There was also a bottle of something called "Elf Brewed Small Ale." Matt rolled his eyes incredulously. _Who gives_ wine _to kids . . . ?_

Then, Matt saw the boxes of games next to the food basket and smiled. Though he was in no mood to play any games, the games Umbridge left for them – Chess, Backgammon, and something called "Senet" – undoubtedly had boards or something that could be used to make a straightedge that they could then use the tape measure to mark-off a ruler. It was worth a try.

Matt brought the game boxes over to the bed and explained his plan. "Look for anything that can be used to make a ruler and we can -,"

Matt stopped in mid speech when he saw something that he should have noticed sooner. If what he saw under his parents' bed took him by surprise, then what he saw on his mom's nightstand _really_ blew him away. There, on his mom's nightstand in plain view, was her cellphone on its charger. "No way . . . ." Matt went around to his mom's side of the bed and picked up the phone. But his wide, ten-year-old's grin dissolved into a frown. The phone was charged and seemed to work, but was showing no bars.

Maisie brightened, and said, "Does your mum's mobile phone work, then?" Matt showed her the phone, but Maisie was not disappointed. "A few days ago, when Missus Martindale – Jenny – came for a visit, she got a signal on her mobile phone when she was inside our tent talking to me, and there is a lot of magic in the tent to make it bigger on the inside than on the outside.

"But the tent had open flaps and windows, so Jenny still got a signal, but she had to go outside to talk on it."

"But how will that help us, Maisie?" said Matt. "We'll be trapped in this room until they let us out. Maybe they don't know that this is a telephone, but once we try talking on it, they might get a pretty good idea that it is one, and stop us."

"I'm thinking that we should send a text message," said Maisie. "Now, who do we send the text to . . . ?"

"My Aunt Tabitha!" said Matt. "She's an FBS Agent! And she is probably on duty right now!"

"What should we say?" said Maisie.

"Something quick and simple," said Matt. "How about something like, "Death Eaters – Help Us!" We'd have to abbreviate it to, "Dth Etrz hlp us," or something like that. When they finally do open the door to let us out, I can text it quickly and hit send before Umbridge realized that we sent a message for help."

Maisie shook her head. "We can't wait until they open the door, Matt – it will be too late, by then. We have to go with our original plan and try to cut a way out of this room and get outside before they come for us."

Matt nodded, and they took stock of the games left for them. The Senet game – a rectangular box with a drawer for the playing pieces - showed the most promise. Matt removed the drawer and broke off a side that left him with a piece of wood about a foot long and an inch wide. On this, Maisie held the tape measure against the wood as Matt carefully marked out a ruler in inches with the pencil. When they were done, the kids went back to the wall and Matt carefully drew the first line. The kids all smiled when the line remained this time. Maisie gasped with joy. Evie and Ellie hugged each other, and Matt and Alfred exchanged high-fives.

Matt then drew the other three lines with no problem, and then began to carefully cut out the square of drywall. The kids smiled again as the knife began to cut the wall without the cuts sealing up. Matt had the piece cutout, but when he tried to remove it, it would not budge.

Evie said, "More of mom's and dad's magic, Matt?"

Matt shook his head. "I think that I cut over a two-by-four, and this piece is still nailed to the wall. Please bring me the toolbox, sis." When Evie brought it over to Matt, he fished around until he found what he was looking for. "Stud finder," said Matt, holding up a small, clear plastic box with a long magnet mounted on a pivot inside. He passed it over the piece he cut until the magnet snapped to attention. "Just as I thought, I cut over a stud. I remember dad saying that they are about eighteen inches apart from the center."

Matt went to a different portion of the wall. This time, he found the stud locations first, and then drew a rectangle between them about sixteen inches wide and three feet high. About ten minutes later, Matt had cut a section of wall off and removed it, exposing the back of the drywall to his own room. Then Matt frowned. He wondered if the spell would prevent him from cutting the drywall to his room from the back. Matt smiled again when he drew his lines and cut the other piece without a hitch, and he was able to pop the piece out into his room. But instead of feeling triumph, Matt felt a weird mix of hope and dread.

Sensing the other kids' excitement behind him, Matt quickly withdrew himself from the hole and motioned for everyone to be quiet. In barely louder than a whisper, he explained to everyone that the piece to his room had popped-out against the back of his dresser drawers, but that was actually a good thing, under the circumstances, because he heard voices coming from his room; voices that belonged to Vincent and Pansy. If they had heard him cutting through the wall and then popping the piece out . . . .

Matt carefully leaned into the opening, and heard the two teen mages speaking.

". . . was that noise?" said Pansy.

"Nothing," said Vincent. "Probably mice in the walls, or something."

"Probably," said Pansy dryly. "Oh, Vincent, look! Can you _believe_ how these poor children are being made to _live_? This is not the proper way for a young wizard or witch to grow up! Look at all this muggle filth they are surrounded with. Radios and televisions and computers and _plastic_! And what exactly are those _things_ hanging from the ceiling . . . ?" Matt knew that she was talking about the models of the fighter planes, Apollo 18 Lunar Mapping Mission, and the Space Shuttle that his muggle grandfather Etienne had flown before he retired from the Air Force and NASA.

Pansy continued, "We got here none too soon, Vincent, and no mistake!"

Vincent Crabbe snorted. "You really think that these kids are kidnapped purebloods, Pansy?"

Pansy's voice was sharp as a sword. "Madame Undersecretary Umbridge says they are! She's even adopting one of the poor things, herself! Don't you dare to presume to question –"

"Oi, now, I was just saying –"

"Well, keep it to yourself!" snapped Pansy. "Or better still; _don't_ even think about it at all! The Dark Lord employs Legilimens, and is said to be one, himself! If you give him _any_ cause to delve into your thoughts . . . ."

Matt could not hear what Vincent mumbled in reply, but he did hear Pansy saying that they should leave the boy's room because all the "muggle garbage was making the air stink!"

When Matt heard them leave, he breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to the others. "They're gone, now. I've got to push my dresser aside, and then we can slip out the window in my room, just like I do when we have a fire drill. Once we are clear of the house, we'll type out the text and send it."

"What then, Matt?" said Alfred.

"Then we run through the woods. There is a small strip mall about half a mile back. When we get there, we can find a telephone and call the FBS Emergency Number. But first I gotta get something . . . ." Matt went over to his mom's and dad's bed, reached under it, and pulled out his father's Winchester Model 1897 12-gauge, pump-action shotgun.

Evie gasped, "Matt! We're _not_ supposed to touch _that_! Mom and dad said so!"

"We may need it for protection," said Matt solemnly. He then turned to Maisie, and said, "Dad's had this for as long as I can remember. He only showed it to me, once. He said he got it in case we got attacked by Second Salemers, Death Eaters or Regina from Storybrooke, or something because he doesn't know how to fight with magic too good."

"I wonder why they left it in here . . . ?" said Matt.

"They may not have known it was a weapon," said Maisie. "If they grew up in strict, Pureblood society, then they wouldn't know much about muggles and don't even want to know. I reckon that that's why they left your mum's mobile phone, too." Maisie nodded to the shotgun. "I know that you have a BB gun, but have you ever shot one of _those_ , before?"

"No," said Matt softly. "And I hope I don't have to, now. But I will if I have to protect you all. Just promise me that if I do have to shoot it, that you will all run the moment you hear it go off."

Matt set the shotgun down and knelt by the opening to his room, listened if he could hear anyone inside, and when he was sure it was safe, began pushing his dresser away from the opening. It was not easy to do on a carpeted floor. But on the plus side, the carpeting deadened the sound. In any case, it was slow-going. Matt also knew that there was a lot of stuff on top of the dresser, and if any of it fell, it might alert Umbridge or the two Junior Death Eater Wannabees to their escape attempt.

Matt shifted his position through the narrow opening to get more leverage on the dresser. He would not need to move it too far; just enough to slip through and then, once on the other side, he could move it the rest of the way for the others. And then Matt's luck turned again.

The heavy dresser was now easy to move, and Matt saw that it was actually _hovering_ about a fourth of an inch from the carpet, barely skimming it. In the back of his mind, Matt knew that what was happening was the involuntary, reflexive magic that wizarding kids could sometimes do when they were scared or under stress, and at the moment, Matt was both. Now the dresser was just out of his reach, but kept moving toward the center of his room for a few more feet before setting itself down softly on the carpet. The way out was now clear.

Crawling backwards back into his parents' room, Matt told the others what had happened, and what they had to do, next. Matt said, "Evie, you'll be responsible for mom's cellphone. The moment you see four bars, send the text we decided on to Aunt Tabby. Then we all make a break for the woods.

"Maisie, I want you to bring up the front. Evie will be with you and show you the way to go through the woods to the strip mall. I'll bring up the rear with dad's shotgun in case those punks try to follow us." Maisie started to say something, but Matt was insistent. "You have to keep the little kids safe; please take the lead!"

Maisie nodded, still uncomfortable that Matt had a shotgun; all the more so since he never fired it before at so much as a clay pigeon. Then Maisie crawled through the opening and into Matt's room. Once through, the first thing that caught her attention was just how messy it was. _Boys!_ Maisie thought. But she quickly forced it down. They had to get out of here, and fast. _Besides, if I make a comment in our present circumstances, Matt is likely to think, "Girls!"_

Following the plan, Maisie climbed onto Matt's (unmade) bed against the wall, and opened the window to the outside, which mercifully slid up silently, and locked into position. Looking behind her, Maisie could see her sister, brother, and Evie Stephens with the mobile phone already in the room as Matt was almost done squeezing himself through.

Once Matt was through, he nodded to Evie, who held up two fingers: two bars on mom's cellphone. Good, but Matt hoped they could do better. Matt whispered, "Evie, get outside and see if you get better reception." Evie nodded and, just like they had practiced for their family fire drills, slipped out through her brother's window, moved away from the house about ten feet, and then waved back to the others, triumphantly holding up four fingers. Matt gave her a "thumbs-up" signal, and mouthed, "Send it!" and Evie began texting.

The four kids remaining in the room were then startled by the commanding voice of Pansy Parkinson from behind them that said, "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE, THEN?! VINCENT, GET IN HERE, NOW!"

Covering the children with her wand, the teen witch scanned the room quickly, and said, "Hold on; where's the other girl . . . ?" Pansy then saw the open window, and the moment Vincent arrived, she flew out of the window in a streak of black smoke, catching Evie Garland Stephens by surprise on the front lawn. The teen witch grabbed the mobile phone from the girl's hand, took her firmly by the wrist, and Evie felt a yank from behind her navel before suddenly finding herself back in her brother's room. Evie collapsed to her knees, and threw up; something that never happened when she apparated with her mom.

"If you've _splinched_ my sister, lady . . . ." Matt raised the shotgun, pumped it, and pointed it at Pansy and Vincent. Pansy fixed Matt with a concerned stare, but Vincent laughed mockingly.

"You stupid little wanker," barked Vincent. "Aren't you forgetting something, then . . . ?"

"Oh, _I'm_ stupid . . . ?" said Matt as defiantly as he could. " _I'm_ not the one who left _this_ under my mom's and dad's bed after searching the room before locking us in!"

"YOU _SAW THAT_ UNDER THE BED AND _LEFT IT_ THERE?!" said Pansy incredulously.

Vincent yelled back, "OH, GO ON, PARKINSON! I'TS _USELESS_ WITHOUT THE BOW AND A BOLT TO SHOOT!"

"OH, YOU IMBECILLIC _FOOL_!" snarled Pansy. "THAT"S NOT A BLOODY CROSSBOW!" Pansy flourished her wand and Vincent blinked in horror, but by the time Matt realized that Vincent was not to be her target, Pansy pointed it at him and said, " _EXPELLIARMUS!_ "

Matt felt the shotgun being yanked from his hands, but his finger jerked the trigger, causing it to fire. Fortunately, the shell discharged harmlessly into the wall, which immediately healed itself.

When the roar of the shotgun had dissipated, the five children and the two teens' attention was drawn to a soft but firm "Hem, hem," coming from the open door.

"What in the name of Hecate is going on in here?" demanded Umbridge. "And how did these children get out of their room . . . ?"

And out in the living room, where Madame Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge had finally left the Stephens adults (under full body petrification spells) and the Cattermole adults (bound by magical ropes via the _incarcerous_ curse) unobserved; Reginald Cattermole began to snap his fingers while chanting " _Finite incantatem_ ," over and over again . . . .


	15. Resistance!

**Chapter 15: Resistance!**

Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the UK's Minister of Magic and Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission looked up from her parchments to gloat once again at her prisoners. Though the two Yanks were immobilised under full-body petrification curses (an unfortunate necessity due to the Colonials' odd obsession with wandless magic,) and their facial expressions could not be read, much less savored; the Cattermole fugitives were only bound by _incarcerous_ charms and the looks of absolute, hopeless terror on their faces was priceless!

It was so satisfying to see those who had mocked the laws of their people brought low at the height of their hubris. And while some uneducated observers might argue that Umbridge's own gloating was equally hubristic, Dolores knew that such an observation would say more about those observing than about the one being observed. Was it wrong for the forces of Law and Order to gloat when they actually got to win a battle in the never-ending conflict for once? When Truth and Justice triumphed against overwhelming odds, was it wrong for those who believed in Right and Good to display _unbridled joy_ in the face of rare victory . . . ?

Dolores Jane Umbridge did not think so; and intended to let the four dastardly criminals in her custody know this well and good. With a smile that would send a diabetic into insulin-shock, Dolores Jane Umbridge delivered her latest taunt to her captive audience. "The floo-hearth is almost ready. Soon, Yaxley and Runcorn will arrive to help me bring the four of you back to the Cattermole hovel in Evesham. Once there, you will all be formally placed under arrest for the crime of conspiracy against the lawful government of the Wizarding UK, among other charges."

Umbridge then addressed Reg directly, and added, "You and the Colonial blood-traitor shall be sent to Azkaban for a quick death, which is more than either of you deserves. As for your mudblood dolly-mops; they shall be remanded into the custody of Yaxley, where they shall be most thoroughly interrogated and _studied_ to determine the precise manner in which they were able to steal magic from true wizards and witches – oh, don't you try to deny it!

"I know that muggles have devices called cyclotrons and CAT Scanners and blood-plasma centrifuges. Is _that_ how you people steal magic from true mages? I advise the lot of you to confess now; I can assure you that Yaxley and his assistants will _not_ be asking you as _nicely_ as I am asking you . . . !" Umbridge took a deep breath, preparing to continue her screed, when she was interrupted by Pansy Parkinson, who was carrying a small bundle of clothes and a pair of girl's shoes, who was followed by Vincent Crabbe. Umbridge rounded to the teen mages, and snapped, "Well, what is it?"

Vincent was paralyzed by Umbridge's stare, but Pansy replied evenly, "Madame Undersecretary, I went through your daughter's room in the tent behind the house as you instructed. This is the best dress and pair of shoes that I could find for Felicia to wear when she is brought before the Obliviators and Memory Modifiers."

Umbridge's expression did not change, but she gave the dress a cursory glance and nodded tentative approval. "Well, at least it is something. I'll not experience my first hug from my new daughter with her dressed in rags and barefoot." She then turned to Vincent, and said, "Now, what of the boy? Did you find anything in his room for him to wear when we present Maxim to Mrs. Zabini and her older son?"

"This kid dresses like a _muggle_ , and no mistake," said Vincent shaking his head. "Worse, he dresses like an _American_ muggle. Oh, he has plenty of clothes, but they are not fit for a true wizard to wear! Lots of blue denim trousers and shirts with pictures on them! Even his _underwear_ has pictures on them! And though he _does_ have several pairs of shoes, most of them are old trainers!"

"Well, find _something_ half-way presentable for him to wear," said Umbridge exasperated. "Surely the boy has at least one decent pair of trousers and a proper, button-down shirt!" Umbridge shook her head in frustration. Perhaps she should arrange the boy's delivery at a proper wizards' Haberdashery to save Mrs. Zabini some time . . . .

Umbridge said, "Miss Parkinson, if you would ever so kindly look through the boy's room and find something presentable for him to wear? Yaxley and Runcorn will be here, soon, and I will want all the children to be ready to start their new lives!"

Pansy nodded, set the bundle of clothes for Felicia on the kitchen table next to the wands of the two blood traitors and their mudblood whores, and went down the hallway. The three younger children were also dressed in rags and shoeless when they first found them, but had been made to dress properly before being locked in the adult bedroom for safekeeping, though given the quality of the clothing available, it was hardly an improvement.

Pansy ruminated that she still had some of her clothes that she had outgrown in storage, but no sister of hers would be forced to wear hand-me-downs! And that thought brought a smile to Pansy's face. Her mum had begun setting up the new bedroom in the family home that the girls would share, and Pansy's old clothes would be put in the closet and drawers for mere props. But the real fun would begin shortly after Hyacinth's formal arrival. Oh, Pansy could not wait to go with her mother and aunts as they took her new little sister clothes shopping at the finest dress shops in Diagon Alley. And mum promised that Pansy could pick out some new dresses, too! It will be such fun modeling their new clothes for each other! Pansy knew that she would make the best big sister ever!

And then Pansy was rudely awakened from her daydream when she opened the door to the boy's room and got jolted back into the here and now! The room that she and Vincent had just left moments earlier was now occupied with the children who had been locked in the adult bedroom!

Scanning the room quickly, Pansy saw the reason. Somehow, the children – still under the impression that they were about to be taken away from their "real" families - had managed to cut a hole in the wall separating the adults' bedroom from the boy's room.

Pansy took out her wand and was ready for anything. Fortunately, the children had not seen her yet. Pansy took advantage of this and caught the kids' attention with the most commanding voice she could bring to bear: "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE, THEN?! VINCENT, GET IN HERE, NOW!" Covering the children with her wand, the teen witch scanned the room quickly, and noticed that one of the younger girls – possibly the one who would be chosen to be her little sister – was unaccounted for.

Pansy said, "Hold on; where's the other girl . . . ?" And then Vincent arrived . . . .

In the living room, Umbridge continued to taunt her captives when Pansy called out for Vincent to join her. But moments after Vincent left, Umbridge was startled by a loud noise that sounded like something exploding coming from the direction of the bedrooms down the hallway. Without another thought, Umbridge got up from her seat, and strode brusquely down the hallway to see what trouble her young assistants got themselves into.

Just as the noise began to dissipate, Umbridge got the attention of the five children and the two Hogwarts Seventh Years with a soft but firm "Hem, hem." When she had the undivided attention of all present, she demanded, "What in the name of Hecate is going on in here? And how did these children get out of their room . . . ?"

As seven pairs of eyes were focused on her, Dolores Jane Umbridge took her surroundings into account. The first thing that she noticed was the many disagreeable smells assaulting her delicate nose. A dank odour of brimstone, saltpeter and charcoal hung in the air, vaguely reminding her of her younger days in Potions Class with Professor Slughorn. There was also that ubiquitous muggle smell – ozone – produced by their multifarious electronic devices that Colonial wizards similarly insisted on surrounding themselves with. But even more overpowering to Umbridge's delicate olfactory sensibilities was the horridly offensive and overpowering smell of _little boy_ . . . .

Responding to Umbridge's query, Pansy said, "Madame Undersecretary, these children somehow managed to cut a portal through the wall with muggle tools overlooked by Mr. Crabbe.

"And in addition to overlooking the home maintenance tools, thanks to Mr. Crabbe's gross incompetence, he even overlooked a deadly muggle _weapon_ when he cleared the room of mirrors and transfigured the windows into part of the wall!"

Crabbe was about to protest, but Pansy continued, "And if that were not _incompetent_ enough, he even left them with a _muggle telephone_!" Pansy held up the cell phone she took from Evie to Vincent's protests that the device looked nothing like the pictures of muggle telephones that he had been shown in preparation for the rescue mission.

Ignoring Vincent, Umbridge replied coolly, "I . . . I see . . . ." Umbridge took the proffered mobile phone from Pansy, feeling somewhat contaminated at having to touch a muggle device, before tossing it into the air and shattering it with a _reductor_ curse while still in mid-air. She then gave Evie a hard look, but spoke to Pansy, "Was the poor, deluded child able to contact anyone that you could determine, then?"

"No, Madame Undersecretary," said Pansy evenly. "I saw her touch the device with her finger in a poking motion. She was attempting to "dial a number," I believe is the term. But I did not hear her speak with anyone, no. I think I stopped her just in the nick of time."

"Good," said Umbridge dryly. "Now, what to do with the rescued children to ensure that they do not attempt anything that they shouldn't, again . . . ? Clearly we cannot return them to their waiting room that we attempted to make as comfortable as possible for them after this infraction."

Vincent Crabbe risked speaking, and said, "Madame Undersecretary, the inner walls in this Yank house are ridiculously flimsy! I was thinking that they were stone or at the very least wattle and daub, but it's just thin, plaster sheets fitted over a frame of wooden sticks. They could probably kick their way out of any room we lock 'em in in this house, and no mistake!"

"I hate to admit it," said Pansy. "But Vincent is right. May I suggest that we bring them all into the living room with the adults and bind them with an _incarcerous_ spell where we can all keep an eye on them?"

"An excellent suggestion, Miss Parkinson," said Umbridge brightening at the thought. Let their so-called "parents" see them one, last time and be helpless to do anything about it! "But first, I want the two elder children made presentable. Yaxley and Runcorn will be arriving, soon." She turned to Matt, and said, "Get dressed, boy! I want you in proper trousers and a good shirt before I present you to your new family, and for G-d's sake, put on some shoes and socks! You look like a bloody beggar boy from "Oliver Twist!"

Matt wrapped his arms around himself protectively, and said, "I – I'm _not_ going to get dressed in front of a bunch of _girls_ , lady! One of them is my _sister_!" Matt shuddered at the thought. Why, oh why did he have to pick _today_ to wear his "Batman" Underoos . . . ?

"Leave 'im with me, Madame Undersecretary," said Vincent. "I'll make this little twit dress proper, there's a good lad!"

Exasperated, Umbridge looked at Matt, and said, "Oh, very well, boy! We'll do this the easy way! Umbridge waved her wand and Matt felt himself enveloped in thick, odorless light blue smoke. When it cleared, he looked down and saw that he was dressed in his best pants, shirt and shoes that he would normally wear to church or to a nice restaurant with his grandparents. Matt felt like a complete dork.

Umbridge then turned to Maisie and waved her wand again, enveloping the girl in pink smoke that dissipated just as quickly as the smoke around Matt, leaving Maisie in the dress and shoes that Pansy found in her room in the Cattermoles' tent, teleported from the Stephenses' kitchen table.

"There," said Umbridge, her trademark sickeningly-sweet smile beaming out at the frightened kids. "Now, you all look presentable! I don't know why I didn't think of doing this sooner!

"Right. To the living room with the lot of you! Now, march! And if any of you tries to run, _this one_ ," Umbridge pointed to little Alfred, "will experience the _Cruciatus Curse_!"

When the children and their captors reached the living room, everyone immediately noticed that something was amiss. Matt was the first to speak. "Where are our parents? What have you done with them, lady?"

Umbridge and the two teens did not respond to the boy's comment, but instead began to look around wildly, wands at the ready.

"C-could the others have come and taken them back home, already . . . ?" said Pansy nervously.

"Of course not, you silly girl!" snapped Umbridge. "They must have gotten themselves free, somehow. But they can't have gotten far, not with the anti-apparation spell I placed around the premises. The floo-hearth is the only way in or out!"

"They still have their _automobiles_ ," Pansy pointed out. "If they can get into the muggle town a few kilometers away, we won't be able to go after them, and they can still call FBS Aurors, who will be on their side!

"We simply must get the children away from here, and to safety!"

"I've got a better idea," said Matt, his bravado returning a little. "The three of you had better haul ass while you still can before our parents come back, and they won't be alone!

"You'll be lucky if they only come back with Aurors and Whitelighters! They probably went to get my Grandma Samantha and my Greatgran Endora and my Uncle Arthur! And when _they_ get here, I'd hate to be you three!"

The two teens looked worried; who in their world didn't know about the illustrious Endora; a name nearly as recognized as Albus Dumbledore or Stephen Strange. But Umbridge was not impressed. She fixed the boy with a neutral expression, and replied, "Don't be so droll, boy . . . .

"Tell me: If we should be so worried about the great blood-traitors Endora, Arthur, and Samantha; then why haven't any of you Yanks called for them, _sooner_ . . . ?"

"W-well . . . . Well, I, uh, we . . . ." Matt stammered. "I'll call for them _now_ at the count of ten! If the three of you aren't gone by then –"

"Then you will have counted to ten for nothing," said Umbridge dryly. "I have it on good authority that _when_ your "grandmother" and "great grandmother" and "uncle" are at the present, they are not able to be reached by normal, magical means."

Suddenly realising that Matt's father also did not make any attempt to call for his famous mother and grandmother for help when she and Matt were rescued from Vincent by their fathers, Maisie said, "What does she mean, Matt?"

"T-they're away . . . visiting relatives . . . ," said Matt in a small voice, fidgeting uncomfortably. When Maisie flashed him a "so what" look, Matt added, "In the Twelfth Century . . . ."

Umbridge smiled and continued, "Do you honestly believe that I would have attempted this little rescue mission unless I was certain that it could be done successfully? Those blood-traitors' intention to take a little holiday aback was detailed last month in the Society page of your _Towne Scryer_. They aren't scheduled back for another couple of days, and by the time they return, you will have begun your new lives in proper, Pureblood Wizarding Society!"

Umbridge made a sound of satisfaction and began to gloat at the children, but before she could gloat for very long, she felt the ground slip out from under her, and gasped as she collapsed to the floor. Once there, she saw that everyone else in the room had also collapsed to the floor, as well.

"Bloody earthquake!" spat Vincent.

"No, you _prat_!" snapped Pansy. "Look about you! _Nothing_ is shaking!" But before Vincent could reply, Umbridge, Pansy and Vincent saw the wands they had dropped suddenly jump from the ground and fly around the corner.

Vincent said, "What in Hades . . . ?"

And in a voice that betrayed tightly controlled anger, Adam Stephens said, "Guess again, punk."

Everyone on the floor looked up to see Adam and Janelle Stephens and Reginald and Mary-Elizabeth Cattermole coming around the corner to the front room. Janelle was holding the three wands that had just flown around the corner, and while she looked more relieved than angry, her overall expression was not a pleasant one. Janelle Stephens said, "Matt, Evie; are you and your friends alright?"

The kids all smiled and called out for their parents. Matt tried unsuccessfully to stand, but his legs wouldn't support him. Matt then tried hauling himself up against the living room couch, but had no better luck. His legs were not cooperating. Matt said, "Dad, mom; what's happening?"

Adam replied, "I used a wide-area Jelly Legs Jinx to bring you all down. I'll cast a counter-curse for you kids as soon as we get _these_ three under control."

"T-that's _impossible_!" said Umbridge. "I did not hear you speak the curse; much less see you wave your wand at us! Admit it; you used some kind of muggle _nuclear_ weapon or _nerve-agent_ on us, didn't you . . . !"

"Nope," said Adam, really not wanting to dignify Umbridge's statement with a response. "Just a twitch of my nose was all it took."

"Wandless magic should be outlawed!" opined Vincent.

"Then only outlaws would use it," replied Adam dryly. "Now, let's take care of our kids . . . ."

The adults all set about casting counter-curses until all five of the children were able to get up and move around on their own. They all still felt a bit unsteady, but the adults assured them that they would be completely alright in a few moments.

"Now what about these three?" said Reg a bit too evenly, "I'm guessing that chaining them up at Traitor's Gate at Low Tide back home is out of the question. But seriously, who do we turn them over to? Certainly not anyone working with 'Minister' Thickness . . . ."

"Their crimes were committed on American soil," said Janelle reasonably. "The FBS has jurisdiction."

"I beg your pardon, you frowsy _mudblood_ slut!" said Umbridge, still lying on the floor of the Stephenses living room in a most undignified manner, her voice dripping with outrage. "MACUSA has _no authority_ over us! I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission! We are here investigating a conspiracy against the Lawful Government of the Magical United Kingdom!

"If one of your sodden Aurors or Whitelighters so much as lays a finger on me or my assistants, you may rest assured that it will result in an _International Incident_!"

"That's it," said Adam exasperated. "I don't have to listen to this crap in my own living room. I'm calling the FBS!" Adam went into the kitchen, then came back a moment later shaking his head. "The phone's gone. They probably got all the phones, for that matter. Unless . . . . I wonder if they overlooked your cellphone in the bedroom, Jan. These three might not have even known that it _was_ a phone."

"They did leave it, dad," said Matt nodding. "Evie managed to send a text to Aunt Tabby before that _rhymes-with-witch_ ," Matt pointed to Umbridge, "got us and fried it with magic."

"Good going, Evie," said Adam nodding. "But we can't count on Tab checking her phone for personal calls; especially when she is on duty. We've got to get out of here, now!

"Jan's Pacer is still out front, we might be able to all fit in if we throw out the groceries and supplies and the kids sit on our laps. We should be relatively safe once we get into town, and we can call the Aurors for help at the 7-11 down the road."

Janelle nodded, "We can leave these three here. That Jelly Legs Jinx you hit them with should last for at least another hour, Adam."

Mary Elizabeth shook her head vigorously. "No, Jan. You and Adam get all of our children to safety and call for help. Reg and I will stay here to watch these three until your Aurors arrive." Janelle started to protest, but Mary was insistent. "We managed to get off of the sticky wicket they had us on the first moment they left us unguarded. So did our children, for that matter when they left them unattended in your bedroom. I don't want to give them _any_ opportunity to escape if we leave them on their own! I need to be sure that they will all _pay_ for their crimes!"

Reg nodded. "I'm with the missus on this one."

Matt turned to Maisie's dad, and said, "Sir, that Umbridge lady said that there are _others_ coming, soon, and I don't think that she was bluffing. Maybe we should stay together. It's almost lunch time, and Aunt Tabby will be checking her texts, soon. It might be best to wait for her to come here and help us."

"If others are on the way, Matt," said Reg. "Then I would feel better if your parents got you and your sister and our kids out of the line of fire before they do. We can watch these three and hold off anyone else who comes through the floo until you can send help."

Umbridge laughed. "Against _Yaxley_ and _Runcorn_ ; the two of you . . . ? Not bloody likely!"

Adam and Janelle looked puzzled. Mary said, "Yaxley is Head of Magical Law Enforcement in the UK under Minister Thickness. Runcorn is also high up in the Ministry and works with Umbridge's Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Both are highly skilled at magical dueling."

"Then maybe you'd better have some of what that Dresden kid calls "backup," said Adam. He turned to his son, and said, "Matt, listen carefully: under the bed in my room –"

"I-I found your shotgun, dad," said Matt. "I was going to take it with us when we tried to escape, but the older girl caught us before we could. She used magic to get it away from me, but it's probably still in my room."

Janelle's eyes went wide, and she said, "Son, was _that_ the loud noise that we all heard a few minutes ago, before Umbridge left us to ourselves?"

"M-maybe . . . ?" said Matt, shifting uncomfortably.

"Alright, son," said Adam. "We'll talk about that, later. But for now, I want you to get it and bring it to me."

Matt nodded, and sprinted down the hallway to his room. Immediately, he saw where the shotgun had landed after Pansy hit him with an _expelliarmus_ spell. The boy carefully picked up his father's shotgun and was about to head back to the living room when he heard voices coming from the open window. Though the voices were indistinct, Matt could tell that there were at least two men, and they were speaking the same way that the Cattermoles talked.

Without even trying to hear more, Matt slipped out of his room as quietly as he could. When he was back in the living room, he told everyone what he had heard.

"Yaxley and Runcorn," said Reg. "Has to be. Must have come through the floo."

Adam said, "If they're out front, we can't get to the car."

Janelle went to the sliding door to the back yard and peeked cautiously through the drapes. "I don't see anyone out back, but the tent is blocking most of the view. For all we know, there could be others around the barbecue grille they turned into a floo."

Umbridge said, "You see? Resistance is futile. If you criminals surrender now, your deaths will be much less painful."

"I don't know how to surrender," said Janelle dryly. "I went to Hogwarts; not Beauxbatons!" Then Janelle conjured gags to cover the mouths of Umbridge, Pansy and Vincent. Partly to keep them from calling out to the dark wizards outside, and mostly so she would not have to hear them speaking anymore.

"So, what now?" said Adam taking the Winchester from his son. "I suppose we could all try to slip out the side window in our office. But there is nowhere to go from there except to the front or back yards. We know that the front isn't safe, and there could be more of them out back."

Reg said, "Can you do another Jelly Legs Jinx on those two, Adam?"

"It's worth a try, Reg. Maybe we can slip out the side window together. I'll jinx the two out front, and you use a _reductor_ spell on the floo to keep more from coming here. Jan and Mary can protect the kids until Tab gets the text and comes with help."

Without further discussion, the two wizards made for the side window as the two witches guarded their children and the prisoners. Instinctively, Evie moved closer to her big brother, and Ellie and Alfred moved closer to their big sister. In turn, the two ten-year-olds looked to each other for moral support. Matt smiled at Maisie, and whispered, "It's going to be alright . . . ."

Maisie smiled back, and then Matt realized at that moment that she was holding his hand.


	16. Skirmish!

**Chapter 16: Skirmish!**

The extra bedroom on the side of the Stephenses' house that (until recently) was used as the office for their family business had a single window that was about six feet from the ground. Fortunately, Adam kept the windows in good working order throughout the house, and it slid open effortlessly before locking in the up position. Then, Adam reached for a rolled-up fire escape ladder that he kept nearby.

"I'll have this on the ledge in a second," said Adam. "Then I'll climb out first and you pass me my shotgun - " But before Adam could put the ladder in place, Reg shot past him and out the window in a streak of smoke before reforming on the lawn outside. Adam said, "But I guess that works, too . . . . Man, I have _got_ to learn how to do that . . . !"

Wordlessly, Reg held out his hands and Adam passed him the shotgun before climbing out the window as quietly as he could. Once outside, Reg handed the muggle weapon back to Adam and then brought his wand at the ready. "So, what do we do now, Adam?"

"I guess we go over to the corner of the house near the front and see if the two wizards Matt heard from his window are still out there. If they are . . . ." Adam glanced down at the shotgun before moving quietly to the front of the house, getting down on all fours and lying on his belly before peeking tentatively around the corner. With grim determination, Adam knew that he would most likely have to kill the two men, albeit two men who were threatening his' and Reg's families. If only there was another way. Briefly, Adam wondered if he could aim for their wands . . . .

 _No_ , thought Adam. _Shooting the weapons out of the bad guys' hands only works for Chuck Connors on old reruns of "_ The Rifleman _." If this Yaxley and Runcorn are as bad as Reg and Mary says they are, then I gotta take 'em out quickly! I certainly can't out-magic them. I'm no more Dr. Strange than I'm Lucas McCain . . . ._

But after taking a look around the corner, Adam stood back up. "They're not there, Reg!"

"Where the bloody hell are they, then?"

"Beats me," said Adam. "Maybe they're in the back yard." _Or_ , thought Adam, _G-d forbid, in the house . . . ._

"If I were them," said Reg thoughtfully. "I would have tried to knock on the front door and would have expected Umbridge or one of her assistants to let me in right away.

"But if nobody answered the door right off, I would be worried; especially if I was under the impression that Umbridge had everything under control."

Adam nodded. "Then there is a pretty good chance that they went back through the floo to get reinforcements. So we gotta take out that floo before they try to get back! But just in case I'm wrong, I need you to cover me while I sprint for the car. Let's see if Umbridge's floo holds up to two tons of Kenosha Steel . . . ."

Reg nodded back grimly. Adam continued. "As soon as I get safely to the car, you head back inside and tell our wives and kids what I'm going to do. Wherever our newcomers are, the sound of the floo hearth coming down should bring them to the back yard. That should leave the front clear for Jan, Mary and the kids to make it to the garage and get safely away in my Buick."

"Right," said Reg, realising what his friend was planning. "Give me five minutes, then. As soon as I hear the crash, I'll pop over to the backyard to help you deal with Yaxley and Runcorn or _whoever_ they are. With any luck, your sister should have gotten your daughter's message by now, and will be sending help sooner rather than later."

Adam checked his watch. It was a little after one o'clock. Surely Tabby would be checking her text messages about now . . . .

Reg continued, "And Adam; _whoever_ came over to help Umbridge is _undoubtedly_ dangerous. They will be casting curses to _kill_. This is probably not a good time to ask, but do you know how to cast the killing curse?"

"No," admitted Adam. "I asked my family to show me how to after Storybrooke came through the Veil back in '83. But I was just 13 then; and Mom, Grandma and Uncle Arthur refused." He then glanced down to the shotgun, and added, "But if push comes to shove, _this_ is all the _Avada Kedavra_ that I should need . . . .

"This may not be a good time to ask _you_ this, Reg. But are you a Legilimens . . . ?"

"No," said Reg. "Why?"

Adam managed a smile. "Because you just read my mind about what needs to be done!"

"Good luck, my friend," said Reg solemnly.

"Right back at you, my man!" Adam glanced around the corner, saw that it was clear, and sprinted to the Pacer parked in front of the house right where they had left it. When he got to the car, he tossed the shotgun in and slid in through the open window so as not to make any telltale noises by opening and closing the heavy door.

 _Eat your heart out, Bo Duke_ , Adam thought as he slid smoothly into the driver's seat better than he had expected to. Then he waved his hand out the window to let Reg know that he was in position. Though he could not see if his friend got the signal, he then hunkered down so as not to be seen, and started to count to three hundred by "Mississippi's."

As soon as Reg saw Adam wave to him, he apparated back through the window, went to where their wives and kids were with the prisoners, and explained the plan. Without much time for debate, both Janelle and Mary Elizabeth accepted the plan. But with one modification; Mary insisted on staying with Reg while Janelle got their kids to safety.

"I will not leave these three; especially Dolores Jane Umbridge, unattended for _any_ length of time. The moment we hear the sound of the car hitting the floo, then you may go out to assist Adam. But I shall remain here watching the prisoners to be sure they can't escape."

"They _can't_ escape," insisted Reg. "Please go with Janelle!"

" _They_ probably thought that _we_ were securely held, too," Mary pointed out. "And yet . . . ."

Reluctantly, Reg nodded. "Too bloody right . . . ." And then, to Janelle, added, "Please get Maisie, Ellie and Alfred to safety."

Both Reg and Janelle knew Mary well, and both knew that it was useless to argue with her. So without another word, Janelle motioned for the kids to follow her to the front door. Meanwhile, Reg went over to the sliding glass door to the backyard, ready to move the moment he heard his cue. And all the while Mary Elizabeth Cattermole never took her eyes off of Umbridge and her assistants.

At the front door, Janelle said, "Be ready to run when I open the door, kids. I'll be right behind you. Head straight for your dad's Buick. The doors should be open. As soon as everyone piles in, we're out of here as fast as I can drive!"

Moments later, Janelle heard the sound of her Pacer's Wankel starting with a hum that grew louder as Adam floored it and spun off for the backyard. Janelle threw open the front door, and yelled; "NOW!"

Adam sped around the corner of the house just as the children and Janelle were out the door sprinting for the garage. He caught a quick glimpse of them in the rearview mirror, but his attention was mainly on the floo hearth that was once their barbecue grille. Adam saw one man wearing a black leather trench coat standing next to it and his mind went into overdrive:

 _Where was the other man that Matt heard? Did he already go back through the floo? Or is the second man in the house or the tent? The man has his wand out, and is pointing it at me . . . ._

Adam put the pedal to the metal and braced himself for impact as he ignored the wizard casting spells wildly, and drove straight for the floo hearth. In the back of his mind, Adam realized that he was not belted in, and the Pacer did not have airbags. Adam didn't remember twitching his nose, but he magically remained in his seat as though he had just decelerated smoothly for a stoplight, even as the Pacer came to an abrupt stop on impact and the floo collapsed around him from the blow.

And then Adam saw a face in the windshield looking back at him. At first, he thought that it was his own reflection, but quickly realized that it wasn't. Nor was it the face of the man in the leather trench coat who had been standing next to the floo. Sprawled spread-eagle on the hood of the wrecked Pacer was a man wearing traditional wizard's robes that had a face like none other like Adam had ever seen. Adam thought that the face looked more like it belonged to an alien from "Galaxy Quest" or "Star Wars" than to any actual person.

The man's face had no hair and no nose and its eyes were vaguely reptilian. Its expression, a snarl of rage quickly transformed into a mask of panic before snapping back into the crumbling floo like a stretched rubber band snapping back, and was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

But Adam did not have the luxury to ruminate on the meaning of what he had just seen. The wizard in the black trench coat was now beside the wrecked car, and he was pointing his wand through the open driver's side window directly at Adam's head . . . .

When he heard the crash, Matt stopped running for the garage and glanced behind him. Matt smiled when he saw that his father had successfully rammed the floo hearth that was once the family barbecue pit, bringing it down. _Way to go, dad!_ Matt thought. _Nobody else is coming through_ that _floo hearth!_ But then, Matt saw a man in a black leather coat point a wand at his father, who might be unconscious in his mom's totaled Pacer.

Ignoring his mom's near-panicked calls for him to run to the garage, Matt saw one of his baseballs lying in the grass. It flew from the ground and into his hand the moment Matt thought about it. And then, Matthew Starr Stephens wound-up to throw what would be the most important pitch of his life . . . .

"Meddling Colonial Blood-Traitor," snarled Albert Runcorn as he pointed his wand at Adam's head through the open car window. " _Avada Ked_ -UHHH . . . !" Runcorn staggered as something hard struck his head. Falling to his knees, Runcorn saw a funny looking ball on the ground in front of him; it was greyish-white with thick, red stitching – obviously the object that just struck him. Dazed, he looked in the direction that the blow came from, and saw a young boy about ten or eleven years old, who had obviously thrown the odd- looking round missile at him.

Still on his knees, Runcorn pointed his wand at the boy. He really wanted to use the _Cruciatus curse_ , but he knew that this boy was one of Umbridge's charges; possibly the one that the Zabini family was interested in obtaining. The boy froze in fear. But before Runcorn could curse the impudent boy, he felt his head being struck again; this time by the heavy door of the muggle automobile as the boy's father got out . . . .

Inside the Stephenses home, Reg Cattermole heard the sound of the plump, yellow car slamming into the floo hearth. He quickly exchanged grim glances with his wife, and then went out the door to assist Adam. And the second he was gone, Mary was sent flying by Yaxley's stunning spell, sending her flying across the room against the wall, knocking her unconscious.

Ignoring the stunned Mary, Yaxley calmly strode over to Umbridge and her two assistants. He allowed himself a moment to smile at his colleague's uncomfortable predicament before releasing Umbridge and the other two with a quick _finite incantatem_. When Umbridge rose to her feet, Yaxley said, "Well, Dolores, you've really buggered this one up; haven't you, now! It's a good job I came when I did." Yaxley snorted. "Imagine: the great Dolores Jane Umbridge being bested by blood-traitors and their muggle-born strumpets . . . ."

Crabbe said, "Sir, they did not fight fair! They used _muggle_ atomic science weapons on us! They have a crossbow that can fire invisible bolts and makes the smell of fire and brimstone!"

Pansy shook her head and groaned audibly. "With all due respect, Sir, we came here to rescue those poor, kidnapped _pureblooded_ children; one of whom is to be _my_ very own little sister! W-we just can't leave them here with their _kidnappers_!"

"Oh, shut your gob, girl!" snapped Yaxley. "You don't _really_ believe that any of those brats are kidnapped, much less purebloods, do you?"

"Yes, Yaxley, I do . . . ," said Pansy evenly. She took a chance addressing the Head of the Ministry's Magical Law Enforcement Department in so familiar a manner. But despite his seniority, their families both claimed membership in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and that still counted for something. "And your own authorisation of this rescue mission proves that you believe it as well."

Yaxley almost smiled. "I approved this "rescue mission" for a variety of reasons, girl. My main, personal motivation is to give that cheeky sod Reginald Cattermole his comeuppance. As for Cattermole's mudblood flash girl; she and the Colonial mudblood whore will be my newest experimental subjects to determine just how muggles steal our magic. Of course, my share of the money from Umbridge's mad plan is also a wee bit of a sweetener . . . .

"But if you think that these children are kidnapped "purebloods," Parkinson, than you are obviously even _thicker_ than Mr. Crabbe, here ever could be!"

"Why, thank you, sir!" said Crabbe sincerely. Yaxley and Umbridge ignored him.

Umbridge then cast an _Accio_ spell, and retrieved her wand and the wands of Vincent and Pansy from the unconscious Mary. Once Umbridge and her assistants had their wands back, Yaxley nodded and said, "Right; now, let's be on our way before the MACUSA Aurors get here!"

Umbridge fixed Yaxley with a hard look, and said, "Not without my daughter!"

It was then that Umbridge got hit square in the midsection by a stunning spell from Mary Elizabeth Cattermole, who fiercely growled, "You mean _my daughter_ , you pink bitch!" For the moment, Umbridge was knocked senseless. But before Yaxley, Vincent or Pansy could retaliate, a volley of stunning spells came from the side, forcing them to grab the unconscious Umbridge, and retreat to the safety of outside in three streaks of black smoke.

Mary got up quickly and looked in the direction of where the spell volley came from. "Reg, is that you . . .?"

"It's me, Mary," said Janelle coming from the hallway, wand at the ready, and adding, "Adam's with our kids; he's getting them out of here. Before that, he drove my Pacer into the floo hearth that Umbridge built, and damaged it so badly that nobody else can come over that way.

"Oh, and he got into a fight with the wizard who was guarding it; kicked his ass, too!"

"Must have been Runcorn," said Mary as she looked around warily. "That was Yaxley you just drove off, along with Umbridge and those kids.

"No offense, Jan, but just _how_ did Adam manage to overpower _Albert Runcorn_?"

"He used a technique that he picked up in Brazil when he was fourteen."

Mary nodded knowingly. "Oh, I've heard that they have some _very_ powerful magical fighting techniques in Brazil."

Janelle shrugged and replied, "Who said anything about _magic_ . . . ?"

After slamming the door of his wife's totaled Pacer into the other man's head, Adam Stephens dove out of the car to press on his attack. Based on what Reg had told him, Albert Runcorn was a skilled magical duelist with a _Hogwarts education_ , so fighting him magically would be a losing proposition.

Adam's own magical education was basic, at best. Though he tried learning as much as possible from his family after school and on weekends, he had to concentrate on the basics, and was never trained in magical combat. Adam liked to joke that he "took the Short Broom" to magic lessons.

Moreover, for the most part, Adam did not think that he really needed to learn any combat magic. Even growing up during what was now known as The First Wizarding War, Adam was not too worried; not with his mother, and especially his grandmother, having his' and his sister's backs.

But in the wake of the arrival of the unplottable town of Storybrooke from the Enchanted Realms on the coast of Maine in late 1983, Adam wanted to learn how to protect himself _magically_ in case the invaders were hostile and the unthinkable were to happen. So the summer of his fourteenth year, arrangements were made for Adam to study basic combat magic abroad with a wizarding family in Brazil.

Though Adam managed to learn some basic Portuguese and develop an addiction to acarajé, he did not learn too much of the local combat magic while he was there, (which he soon discovered was too advanced for him.) But he did not go home empty-handed. The Barboza family had two sons a few years older than him, and from them and some of their friends, he learned some moves of the local _muggle_ fighting/dancing technique known as Capoeira . . . .

Albert Runcorn was on his feet in an instant, firing a killing curse at Adam. But Adam deftly danced out of the way of the green burst and smoothly spun around in one continuous motion, landing a hard kick to the side of Runcorn's head. Runcorn staggered and dropped his wand, but Adam wasn't letting up, following up his first kick with a second, and then a third, and a forth.

Blood came from Runcorn's nose and left ear as he backed off and attempted to summon his dropped wand with an _Accio_ charm. But Adam, sensing what his opponent was telegraphing, spun around, bringing his foot down hard on Runcorn's wand, snapping it like a toothpick.

"YOU BLOODY _BASTARD_ !" Runcorn snarled, "FIGHT ME LIKE A _WIZARD_ , YOU SODDEN MUDBLOOD-LOVING BLOOD-TRAITOR!"

Adam twitched his nose before he even realized what he was doing, transfiguring his opponent into a newt. Running on pure adrenaline, Adam twitched his nose again, and the newt flew into the wrecked car as the shotgun flew out and into Adam's waiting hand. A third and final nose twitch put all the windows of the Pacer in the up position, and slammed the car door shut, trapping the transfigured Pureblood Supremacist inside.

Years later, when Adam retold the tale for the umpteenth time, he could not resist embellishing the narrative a bit _. ". . . and then I said to him, "Is that_ wizard enough _for you, asshole . . . ?"_ But at the moment, Adam had no words, other than to run over to his son, ask him if he was alright, and then giving him a quick "thanks" and pat on the back for saving his life with his fastball.

Adam led his son back to where his wife and the other kids were. When Janelle was certain that her two men were safe, she told Adam to get the kids to safety while she went back to the house to check on Mary and Reg. Adam knew that his wife was the better trained, more skilled mage, and gave her a quick kiss for luck before she streaked back to the house in a line of smoke.

"Yeah," said Adam to his son and daughter as they hugged him hard for the second time that day; the three Cattermole kids close by. "I've _really_ gotta learn how to do _that_. . . ." Then, nodding to his Buick, Adam said, "Everybody into the car! _Now_! That means you too, Maisie!"

"Just a moment, Mr. Stephens," said Maisie, who was on her knees, talking to a couple of copperhead snakes. "I need to be sure that our mum and dad have some of what you call "backup" before we go . . . ."

Reginald Cattermole saw Adam run from the wreckage of the car and the floo hearth, carrying his shotgun, after tossing the transfigured Albert Runcorn into the locked car for safekeeping until the American Aurors arrived; hopefully sooner than later.

 _One down, one to go . . ._ , thought Reg. Proceeding with the utmost caution, Reg held his wand at the ready as he scanned his surroundings for Yaxley. Reg moved around to the side of the tent, staying close to the wall. In the distance, he could hear the unmistakable sound of Adam's big Buick starting up and spinning gravel as it took off to town. The thought made Reg smile. _Our kids are safe!_ Once clear, Adam will find a phone and call the FBS. But for now, Reg could concentrate on the matter at hand.

Reg knew that Yaxley - who liked to give him trouble at work at every opportunity - was no simple workplace bully. Aside from being the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Yaxley was an unabashed Pureblood Supremacist as well as a known Death Eater who was said to be very close to _You-Know-Who_. In addition, Yaxley was a famed magical duelist skilled in the art of nonverbal spellcasting, and his ruthlessness and lack of mercy was too well known.

Reg then felt his wand pulled from his hand and saw it flying in an arc back in the direction he came from. Turning around, he saw that Yaxley was there, holding both of their wands. Keeping his own wand pointed toward Reg, Yaxley calmly put Reg's wand into his jacket pocket. Yaxley said nothing as he fixed Reg with a hard look of complete and utter contempt.

As evenly as he could, Reg said, "It was a mistake for you to come here, Yaxley. The American Magical Authorities – Aurors and Whitelighters - will be here any moment, now."

"And by the time they arrive," said Yaxley. "We shall be gone, and you and the Colonial blood-traitor shall be dead. _Avad_ –" Yaxley winced in pain and dropped his wand and Reg saw the reason. No fewer than six copperhead snakes had sunk their fangs into Yaxley's ankles, bringing the Death Eater to his knees.

Reacting fast, Reg kicked Yaxley hard to the side of his head, knocking him senseless. Reg then retrieved his and Yaxley's wands and after pocketing the latter, he cursed the Head of Magical Law Enforcement with an _Immobulus_ _spell that would not only prevent him from moving, but would also slow the spread of the copperhead's venom as well._

Years later, when Reg retold the tale for the umpteenth time, he could not resist embellishing the narrative a bit _. ". . . and then I said to him, "Don't go anywhere, there's a good lad . . . ."_ But at the moment, Reg had no words like some muggle "Movie Action Hero" might pithily throw out at his sleazy, most deserving opponent.

Instead, Reg said to himself, "Good show, Maisie," and then ran over to the wrecked car and, after being sure the transfigured Runcorn was still there (Reg thought that Adam's newt was alright, but would have gone old-school, himself, and made Runcorn a wart-covered toad,) and was unable to escape. Then Reg ran back to the house to see if the ladies needed any assistance . . . .

The back sliding glass door of the Stephenses house opened just as Reg came to it, and Mary ran out. Both were overjoyed to see that each other was safe, but there was no time for even a quick hug. Reg told Mary that Adam subdued Runcorn and that he – with a little help from some of Maisie's long, brightly coloured friends – got Yaxley under control.

Mary said, "If Umbridge and the two kids are still about, they might try to free Runcorn and Yaxley. We'd better make certain that they do not get them free before the American Aurors arrive!" Without another word, the Cattermoles ran around to the side of their tent to where Reg had left Yaxley under his _Immobulus_ spell . . . .

In front of the Stephenses house, Vincent and Pansy, rudderless without their adult mentors, were debating what to do next. Vincent wanted to leave before the American Magical Authorities arrived, but Pansy insisted that only Umbridge, Yaxley or Runcorn could give the word to abandon the mission. "And besides," said Pansy. "They still have my little sister!"

"Oh, go on, Parkinson," snapped Vincent. "You heard what Yaxley said; Umbridge is _pretending_ that those brats are "purebloods" so she can get what _she_ wants, and Yaxley is _pretending to believe_ her so he can get what _he_ wants!

"But when the _Dark Lord_ becomes the undisputed ruler of all Wizardkind, I wouldn't want to be _any_ of those mudblood kids then, and no mistake!"

Pansy Parkinson gasped, not at Vincent's remark, but at the sight of the Colonial mudblood who at that very moment was pointing her wand at the two teen mages getting, as the Yanks might say, "the drop on them."

Years later, when Janelle retold the tale for the umpteenth time, she could not resist embellishing the narrative a bit _. ". . . and then I said to them, "Go ahead; make my day . . . ."_ But instead, she simply said, "Don't move, you two. Put your hands up. The Aurors will be here, soon."

"Bollocks to that!" spat Vincent, who grabbed Pansy's hand and attempted to apparate both of them away from the Stephenses home. But Vincent forgot about the anti-apparation spell that Umbridge had placed around the premises shortly after she arrived. Vincent and Pansy reappeared a few yards away from where they had been standing. And both teens had splinched.

Janelle didn't have any time to warn the kids to not attempt a long distance apparation. Nor did she run to their side to try to assist them. She could better help them by breaking Umbridge's spell and calling for help. But what Janelle was attempting was not without its risks.

Janelle knew that what she was about to attempt would require intense concentration and focus to undo another witch's powerful spell, and she would be vulnerable if Umbridge or one of the wizards with her was around. But these kids, no matter how misguided, were just _kids_ ; not that much older than her own children. Putting everything she had into it, Janelle flourished her wand, feeling for Umbridge's spell and taking hold of it, saying, " _FINITE INCANTATEM_ !"

It was physically and emotionally draining, but Janelle could feel Umbridge's spell dissipating into the aether. Finally, Umbridge's spell was down. Tired, Janelle fell to her knees. _Now, to get those kids some help_. Wearily, Janelle raised her wand once more, and spoke the invocation, "Calling Dr. Bombay! Calling Dr. Bombay! Emergency! Come right away!"

Dr. Bombay, the family Healer, popped in with the sound of a chime. He looked around and saw Janelle on her knees. "Mrs. Stephens! Are you alright . . . ? I hope this is important; I was just about to give the Halliwell sisters their annual mamo –" Weakly, Janelle pointed to Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson, and Dr. Bombay's jaw dropped. "MERLIN'S BEARD ! A teen splinching accident on a Saturday afternoon . . . . Don't tell me that it's Homecoming Weekend at Ilvermorny already?!"

As Dr. Bombay began working on Vincent and Pansy, Janelle Stephens passed out on her front lawn . . . .

After regaining consciousness where the others had left her behind the tent, Dolores Jane Umbridge crept around the corner, coming up behind Reginald and Mary Elizabeth Cattermole, wand at the ready. Umbridge saw the Blood-Traitor and his Mudblood trollop standing next to the supine Yaxley. Umbridge commanded, "Drop your wands and step away from the Head of Magical Law Enforcement for the UK!"

Slowly, Reg and Mary turned to face Umbridge, but neither dropped their wands. Umbridge repeated her command. This time, Reg shrugged and said, "Now!" and snapped his fingers. Umbridge startled as behind her, the entrance to the tent ruffled as though someone was jumping out of it from behind her. Umbridge rounded to the sound and felt her wand flying out of her hand as Reg said, " _Expelliarmus_!"

Mary followed up with a swish and flick of her wand, saying, " _Levicorpus_!" And Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, felt herself jerked skyward about four meters from the ground.

Umbridge gasped at this; more from outrage than fear. "HOW DARE YOU ASSAIL ME IN THIS MANNER, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD WENCH! I DEMAND TO BE UNHANDED IMMEDIATELY, OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES MOST DIRE FOR THE LOT OF YOU!"

Years later, when Mary Elizabeth was asked about what had happened that day, she would politely tell the person making the enquiry that she would prefer to not talk about it. Mary's eyes met Umbridge's eyes with a cold, hard stare that would petrify even the Dark Lord, and said, "This ends now, Dolores Jane Umbridge." Then the tip of Mary Elizabeth Cattermole's wand began to glow a deadly green . . . .


	17. Umbridge's Close Call

**Chapter 17: Umbridge's Close Call**

"W-what are you _doing_ . . . ?" Umbridge exclaimed. "You can't kill _me_! T-that's murder! Worse than murder; it's _assassination_! I am a _very important person_ in _your_ Ministry of Magic!

"I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the UK's Minister of Magic, and Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission! You _dare_ not harm _me_ , you filthy mudblood! You _dare not_ do this!"

All too calmly, Mary said, " _Avada_ . . . ."

But a man's voice from behind her said, "Mrs. Cattermole, Please STOP!" Mary did not recognize the man's voice, but he had an American accent, and it wasn't Adam. Mary stopped the incantation, but did not take her wand - its tip still glowing deadly green - off of the floating, hapless woman.

The man's voice continued, "Mrs. Cattermole, my name is Agent Pugsley Addams of the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery. The Stephens family and your children are all safe, and these premises are secured by MACUSA Aurors. The situation is under control.

"Now, please lower Dolores Jane Umbridge to the ground _gently_ , and we will take her and Mr. Yaxley here into MACUSA custody."

Mary glanced back and saw a portly, expensively-dressed wizard in his 40's standing next to Reg, who nodded reassuringly. But Mary snapped her attention back to Umbridge, and said, "NO! She _won't_ get away _this_ time! Not after _everything_ that she has done to me and my family! You can have her _lifeless body_ when I've finished _cursing_ the life out of her! She'll _never_ harm my family or _anyone else_ _ever again_!"

Agent Addams did not know what to say to that. With two words from Mrs. Cattermole, Dolores Umbridge would die, and everything that she knew would die with her. As much as he didn't want to, Pugsley prepared to cast a Full-Body Petrification spell on Mrs. Cattermole, hoping that Umbridge would not break her neck when she fell from a height of nearly twenty feet up.

But before Pugsley had to do anything, a smooth voice speaking in a British accent coming from in front of him said, "Mrs. Cattermole, before you kill this evil woman, _please_ listen to what I have to say, first . . . ." Pugsley made a barely audible sigh of relief when he saw that Kingsley Shacklebolt - the UK's TRUE Minister of Magic in Exile – came around the corner of the tent, to address the distraught Mrs. Cattermole.

Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke again, his voice at once authoritative and soothing. "Do you know who I am, Mrs. Cattermole? I am Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am acting as the Minister of Magic in Exile, and as such, I must ask you to turn Dolores Jane Umbridge over to the American Wizarding Authorities, that she may answer for her crimes against your family, the Stephenses, and many, many others, both known and who are yet to be determined."

"N-no, Minister Shacklebolt," said Mary shaking her head vigorously. "Y-you can have her _after_ I have killed her. If you take her alive, she will escape and go on harming muggle-borns and their families.

"She must be stopped _now_! As long as she draws breath, she is a threat! Once she is back in the UK and resumes working for that prat "Minister" Thickness and that monster Voldemort; she will resume her killing of muggle-borns and the stealing of their children to sell for adoption!"

"Mrs. Cattermole," said Kingsley evenly, "All that you have said Umbridge has done is true, but the _Americans_ have her now. Dolores Jane Umbridge's murderous, kidnapping ways are over.

"Now, I do understand that she has done unspeakable things to your family and to the Stephens family; but your families are alive and intact.

"Unfortunately, the same may not be said for _other_ families who have had the misfortune of falling into the hands of these two." Kingsley indicated the floating Umbridge and the paralysed Yaxley, "And those are the families who we are now trying to help."

"What do you mean?" demanded Mary. "The only way to help the murdered muggle-borns and their spouses is to _kill their murderess_!"

"It is not the murder victims of Umbridge and Yaxley that I am referring to, Mrs. Cattermole," said Kingsley gently. "It is their _surviving children_ , who are even now living under assumed names with assumed memories with the families that they were sold to for adoption that we want to help. We currently estimate that Umbridge's scheme could involve anywhere from thirty to sixty children, though we are far from certain . . . .

"We are fairly certain, however, that Umbridge did not keep any written records of her evil deeds. To locate these stolen children, Umbridge needs must be interrogated by legilimens - possibly even thoroughly _Soulgazed_ \- so that all of the stolen children may be found and accounted for, and then sent to live with surviving family members, either magical or muggle.

"Because of this, Mrs. Cattermole, if you kill Umbridge, she will take her evil deeds to the grave with her, and then those children will be beyond our help." Kingsley Shacklebolt paused a moment to allow what he had said to sink in before adding, "Please, Mrs. Cattermole, _do not_ permit Dolores Jane Umbridge to go to her death with this final victory . . . ."

Reg looked over to Pugsley, who nodded, and carefully approached his wife. "Please, Mary, let Umbridge down and give her over to the Yanks . . . ." Reg gently put his arm around his wife's shoulder. Crying, Mary lowered Umbridge to the ground softly, and her husband fully embraced her, reassuring her that she had done the right thing. The moment Umbridge was safely down, a female American Auror who Reg and Mary had seen once before when they first came to the States for asylum came over to take Umbridge into MACUSA custody.

The tall female Auror had long, black hair and wore an expensive, Gothic dress. She conjured magical cords to bind Umbridge's hands, and said, "Dolores Jane Umbridge, my name is Agent Wednesday Addams. In the name of the United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery and the Magical Congress of the United States of America, I am hereby placing you under arrest for the crimes of home invasion, assault, four counts of attempted murder and five counts of attempted kidnapping, and multiple counts of ensorcelling muggle construction workers by means of the _Imperius Curse_.

"In addition, you have entered our country illegally, and have committed these and other crimes against citizens of, and persons granted asylum by, the duly constituted legal authorities of the United States of America, both magical and muggle.

"Do you understand these charges as I have explained them to you?"

"Filthy blood-traitor," said Umbridge looking straight ahead. "I do not acknowledge your existence."

"They don't pay me enough for this," said Agent Addams dryly. "Good thing I'm not doing this for the money." She then nodded to Pugsley, and said, "See you back at HQ, bro!" And then with a loud "bang!" she disapparated with her prisoner back to Salem, Massachusetts.

Pugsley checked his mirror, and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Cattermole, your children and the Stephenses are safely in Salem now. My colleagues got them there about ten minutes ago. Just go with Minister Shacklebolt. He knows the way to FBS Headquarters in Salem.

"We know that you have been through a hellish ordeal, but if possible, the Pensive Posse at HQ will want to take your statements before you rest.

"I'll be along, shortly. Mr. Cattermole tells me that Yaxley here got bitten by a half-dozen copperhead snakes, and I want Dr. Bombay to examine him before I bring him back with me. Probably should have him do a thorough check-up on those poor copperheads who had to bite that SOB as well. I'll see you all again, soon."

The Cattermoles both nodded, and joined hands with Minister Shacklebolt before they all side-along apparated back to FBS Headquarters, hoping that this was the beginning of the end of their ordeal . . . .

Adam Stephens drove his children and the Cattermole children down Midshipman Road to town in his Buick, the speedometer hovering around sixty five in a twenty five mile per hour zone.

Adam was certain that some form of involuntary magic was involved as the Buick was taking the narrow, tight turns as handily as a Porsche 911. He was almost to town when the car gently slowed down on its own, coming to a stop before his older sister, who was standing in the middle of the road ahead of them. Nearly out of breath, Adam jumped out of the car followed by the five children, and said, "Tab; Jan and the Cattermoles . . . ."

". . . Are all safe and sound, Adam," reassured Tabitha. "An entire squad of Aurors and some representatives from the UK's Ministry of Magic in Exile are with them, now." Tabitha took out her wand, and said, "Everyone back in the car. I'm supposed to take you all to FBS headquarters in Salem, and it will be easier to do this way. The others should be along, shortly, if they are not already there."

When everyone was back in the car, Tabitha got in, with them. She twitched her nose and waved her wand for extra "oomph," and everyone teleported to the parking lot of the FBS Headquarters in Salem, Massachusetts in Adam's Buick.

"Woah . . . !" said Matt when they suddenly found themselves in the FBS Headquarters parking lot; but Matt was not commenting on his Aunt Tabby's masterful act of teleportation. Looking about excitedly, Matt said, "Hey, dad, Alfred, check it out! _Harrah's_ doesn't have _anything_ on this place!"

Tabitha sighed, and exchanged a knowing look (complete with obligatory eye roll) with her niece Evie, and her new friends, Maisie and Ellie Cattermole. _I could have just made a freakin' Sorcerer's Stone_ , Tabitha thought, _and my brother, my nephew and my nephew's new little friend are being floored by all the old cars here . . . ._ Though Tabitha shook her head, she had to admit that the '50 Mercury "Mod Squad" Woodie Wagon (that belonged to a Spellcracker she knew,) parked in the space next to them was pretty nice.

Looking around, Adam felt totally humbled by all the classic iron that surrounded them as he closed the door to his late-model (for an American Mage) Buick, and followed Tabitha into the building to make his statement.

Once inside, Adam was taken directly to Janelle, who was resting in a small FBS Headquarters Room of Requirement (configured as a four-star hotel bedroom) to recuperate after countering Umbridge's powerful anti-apparation spell. Then, after checking in on Matt and Evie, (who along with Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole, were having a take-out pizza dinner and watching movies on VHS while Tabitha sat with them,) Adam joined Reg and Mary to make their statements to the Aurors responsible for memory extraction and copying. Janelle would make her own statement later when her strength came back.

The actual debriefing by the FBS Aurors did not take too long. There were some questions asked, but the main goal of these questions was to help Adam, Reg, and Mary recall and focus on specific events so that their memories could be copied for viewing in a pensieve. This memory evidence would be used by the FBS when they presented their formal case to the American Wizengamot against Dolores Umbridge, Albert Runcorn, and Corban Yaxley (who was surprised that his secret Christian Name was known to the American Aurors,) as well as against Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson; who would be tried as adults for their part in the home invasion of the Stephens and Cattermole families.

In less than an hour, Reg and Mary joined their children and Adam's sister, who by then had been joined by Adam's parents Darrin and Samantha Stephens as well as Adam's Great Uncle Arthur and his formidable Grandmother Endora. A few moments later, Janelle joined them, looking exhausted, but otherwise none the worse for wear. After hugging her children and her in-laws, Janelle looked around, and said, "Where's Adam?"

Mary said, "Your FBS Aurors said they wanted to go over a few more things with him. But they said that he should be joining us, shortly.

Janelle's eyes went wide with concern. She had studied Wizarding Administration of Justice at Hogwarts, and did some private research on the American Wizarding Justice System in particular. Memory extraction and copying does not take very long. Adam should have been finished with Reg and Mary. The fact that he was not . . . . "Did they say what the delay was all about?"

"Yes," said Reg. "But I think that Adam should be the one to tell you."

Janelle felt a chill go through her, and took the closest seat she could find. While they had their business, she had been the main records keeper. Adam, taking more after his muggle father, was mostly in charge of sales and advertising, and that's what had Janelle worried.

The rules for running a wizarding business were intricate to the point of being convoluted. There were lots of obtuse regulations and technicalities to worry about. Had Adam made some kind of inadvertent but honest mistake that an FBS Legilimens had detected? For example, had Adam allowed Jenny Martindale's muggle husband Corey to make a purchase for his wife or his Healer witch mother without checking if Corey's Proxy Potions Purchase Permit was up to date . . . ?

Janelle insisted, "What is Adam being detained for? I want to see him, _now_!"

Nobody said anything as Janelle looked desperately from one person to another. Fortunately, the children were currently preoccupied as they watched Disney's "One Hundred and One Dalmatians" on VHS while they ate popcorn. But before they could be distracted by the adults' conversation, Mary went to her friend, and quietly said, "Jan, when we were fighting . . . _those people_ , Adam saw something – _someone_ , actually – and . . . and . . . .

"Oh, Jan, if Adam saw who he thinks he saw; we could all still be in dire jeopardy . . . ."

The FBS Pensieve was only big enough to allow three people at one time to view a memory. The first group of Aurors viewed Adam's memory of taking out Umbridge's floo hearth by ramming it with his wife's car. This was followed by a second group, and then a third and a fourth. Adam then had to wait for the FBS Director, Vincent DeMarigny, to come and view it with some of his entourage. And during the times that Adam did not accompany the Aurors viewing his memory, he was being subjected to the same question over and over and over again.

"And are you absolutely, positively certain, Mr. Stephens, that you never, _ever_ said _that name_ out loud?"

"No," said Adam. "Of course not! I'm not stupid. I've got a wife – a muggle-born wife, for G-d's sake – and _children_ to worry about."

"Could you have spoken the tabooed name in your sleep?" said one of the Aurors.

"No," said Adam, who was beginning to feel tired and irritated. "I don't talk in my sleep. Just ask my wife. She'll tell you that I snore, sometimes, but –"

"Are you being smart with us, Mr. Stephens?" snapped a third Auror, a grey haired wizard in his seventies. "Because based on who I just saw in your memory, you are in such deep trouble that you –"

The older man's well-rehearsed, time-worn spiel was interrupted when the door to the Pensieve Room opened and the Addams siblings came in with a portly, bald headed wizard wearing robes with an FBS Visitor's Pass around his neck. The wizard looked completely abashed. Adam knew who this wizard was, of course. Even if he had not seen him periodically when he and his wife were in business, the face of Fester Addams was a regular in the Society Section of the _Towne Scryer_.

Director DeMarigny stood when Fester Adams came into the room. "With all due respect, Mr. Addams, We know that you are very proud of your niece and nephew, here, but we are currently investigating a matter of National Wizarding Security that-"

"Actually, Director," said Agent Wednesday Addams. "My Uncle Fester has something that he would like to tell you about _pertaining_ to this investigation."

After an uncomfortable silence that seemed to go on for eternity, both Wednesday and Pugsley nudged their Uncle Fester, who fidgeted uncomfortably, and said, "Well, you see, it was like this . . . .

"A short time ago, my nephew Gomez and his wife, Morticia, and I went to the Stephenses business to buy whatever they had so we could be ready to lay-in for a long siege if we were attacked by Pureblood Supremacists. We had recently been threatened by the Death Eaters, you see, and . . . and I'm afraid that while we were at the Stephenses, I made a terrible mistake . . . ."

It was late by the time the Aurors were finished interviewing Adam about what had happened. When Adam was finally allowed to leave, he grabbed a sandwich in the FBS cafeteria with his sister, (who assured him that everything would be all right.) Then Adam joined his wife for the evening in the FBS Room of Requirement that Janelle had used for her recovery, but modified to be larger to accommodate two additional beds for Matt and Evie. The Cattermole family was provided with similar accommodations in another Room of Requirement just across the hall. The beds were extremely comfortable, but none of the Stephenses or Cattermoles would be getting much sleep that night; even though they were safely within the confines of one of the most magically secure buildings in all of North America, if not the entire world.

After trying to fall asleep for more than three hours, Matt got out of his bed and went over to his sister's bed; where she was sitting up weary but wide awake, her knees drawn to her chest. Taking her by the hand, Matt and Evie went over to their parents' bed, and asked if they could climb in with them. Though both Adam's and Janelle's first reaction was to say "no," fearing that it would become a new habit; they both nodded, and their children couldn't have gotten under the covers between them any quicker than if they had apparated.

Once they were in bed with them, Adam yawned, and said, "Well, I guess it's unanimous; we're all scared." Adam looked over at Janelle, who nodded, and then continued. "Why don't you two ask us what's on your minds. We'll both do our best to explain what is going on. That way, whatever else you may be afraid of, it won't be the Great Unknown."

"And we can all deal with our fears as a family," added Janelle reassuringly.

Knowing that it was his responsibility as the Big Brother, Matt said, "Dad, how come the Aurors kept you for so long? Mr. and Mrs. Cattermole were done in half an hour."

"It was because of something – _someone_ – I saw trying to come through the floo just as I rammed it with your mom's car . . . ."

For the next two hours, the Stephens siblings listened with undivided attention as their father told them of how the one they called "What's-His-Face" (and that Maisie's family called, "You-Know-Who,") almost came through the floo; presumably to assist Umbridge and her gang.

When Adam was finished, Matt cautiously asked, "Do you think What's-His-Face made it back to England safely when the floo fell apart?"

Evie said, "What do _we_ care, you _dork_?"

"I _don't_ care about _him_ , you little _Dorcas_!" said Matt. "I hope that he got _splinched_ really badly, or something!" Then, after Matt and Evie were made to apologize to each other, Matt continued, "Dad, remember in that first "Galaxy Quest" movie when the NSEA Protector was rebuilt, and there was that really gross Digital Conveyer accident at the beginning . . . ?"

Adam nodded. He saw that movie when it first came out when he was about his son's age, and _that_ particular scene gave him nightmares for weeks. "Protector . . . what we got back, didn't live long . . . fortunately . . . ."

Adam sighed. "I wish that I could say "yes," Matt. But son, "Galaxy Quest" is make-believe. Magic is real. And if a floo hearth collapses before the wizard or witch can safely exit it; that person simply teleports back to the floo that they first went through. It is said to be a rough return trip, but it it's not lethal.

"Besides, even if he did splinch all over England, What's-His-Face is rumored to have some . . . _dark magic_ that would protect him from actual death; a talisman called a . . . _never mind_. Let's just say that even if he had come through before the floo collapsed and I was able to unload my shotgun into his ass before he could get off a curse at me; that he would _still_ be able to come back eventually, and hurt . . . _kill_ us; probably when we least expect it."

"But how?" said Evie.

Janelle said, "The best way I can think to describe it is that What's-His-Face has made a . . . a magical version of a computer "back-up disk" of his . . . his _soul_ – or at least of what _passes_ for his soul, anyway. And it is possible then to "upload this back-up soul" in another body; say a flesh golem or a homunculus."

Matt said, "So What's-His-Face is immoral . . . ?"

"For all intents and purposes, pretty much," said Adam. "But I think that you meant to say, "immortal." Though immoral also works . . . ."

"So we gotta get those back-up disk soul talismans and smash 'em!" said Matt. "I bet Greatgran Endora could do it!"

"The problem is that your Greatgran Endora sees What's-His-Face as a little punk not worth her trouble," said Adam. "Oh, she won't let him hurt us, if he tries. But mages like Endora and the Sorcerer Supreme won't go out of their way to go after him, either."

"Then why mess with us?" said Matt. "How are we a threat to him?"

"It's not us," said Janelle. "It's what families like us and the Cattermoles represent to him and his followers. But that's not the main reason that we attracted his attention. Unfortunately, the Cattermoles have _something_ that Dolores Umbridge wanted. And when What's-His-Face found out about it, he decided that he wanted that something for _himself_."

Matt swallowed hard. "Maisie," said Matt softly. "He wants Maisie because she can talk to _snakes_ like he can."

"That's what the Aurors think too, son," said Adam nodding. "Umbridge wanted Maisie to be her daughter. But if What's-His-Face wanted Maisie for himself; there wouldn't be much that Umbridge could do to prevent him from taking Maisie."

Matt shook his head. "But Maisie wouldn't have wanted to be with What's-His-Face, either."

"After the Obliviators and Memory Modifiers were done with her," said Janelle sadly. "She wouldn't have known any other life. She would have never known a time when she did not call Umbridge her mom . . . or What's-His-Face her dad . . . .

"After being ensorcelled, Maisie would have forgotten her parents and siblings completely. And the same would have happened to you, your sister, and the other Cattermole siblings, as well."

Evie said, "But what kind of magic can make us forget you and dad?"

Adam and Janelle looked uncomfortably at each other. Adam said, "I think that now is the time to tell them."

Matt said nervously, "T-tell us what, dad?"

"We wanted to wait until you were both a little older," said Adam. "Or at least, when What's-His-Face and his gang have been soundly defeated. But if you want proof of just _how_ efficiently obliviation and memory modification works, then you should know that you and your sister have had your own memories modified not long ago."

"Kids, do you remember when the Addamses came over a few months ago to buy our remaining inventory? Do you remember what Mr. Fester Addams said . . . ?"

Matt smiled a ten-year-old's grin. "Oh yeah, dad! Mr. Addams dropped the "F-Bomb, big time!" Evie giggled a bit at the thought of an adult swearing. But her giggling stopped when she saw that her parents were more serious than ever.

"No, he _didn't_ ," said Adam. "But that is how your mom modified your memories of what had happened. Actually, Mr. Addams spoke the unspeakable, tabooed name of What's-His-Face.

"Your mom and I couldn't take the chance that you might repeat the name aloud," said Adam. "This self-styled "Dark Lord" put a taboo spell on his name, so that if anyone, anywhere in the world spoke it, he would know who and where the person who spoke it was."

Matt nodded slowly. "So, you don't say his actual name because you are afraid of him; you do it to not attract his attention."

Adam sighed. "Son, I AM afraid of What's-His-Face. He may be a big bully, but he is also a very powerful sorcerer and a bigot who hates muggles as well as wizards who do not meet with his approval.

"And he is not alone. He has an entire gang of followers who think the way that he does, as well as people who would like to live in the kind of world that he wants to make; even if they would not want to get their own hands dirty setting such a world up.

"Now, Grandma Sam and Greatgran Endora _could_ off What's-His-Face without a second thought. But bullies like him aren't dumb enough to directly challenge powerful mages like your Grandma and Greatgran. If What's-His-Face wants to hurt them; he would do it by going after the people they care about. And that's us."

Adam and Janelle were interrupted by a gentle, but urgent knock at the door. When they answered the knock, (with Matt and Evie right behind them,) a young Auror was at the door, and Reg and Mary Cattermole and their children were with him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, I am very sorry to bother you and the Cattermoles at this hour, but there has been what you might call a . . . a ' _complication_ ;' two complications, as a matter of fact."

"What happened?" said Adam fearing the worst. "Are mom and dad alright? Are Jan's parents alright?"

"T-they are fine," said the Auror. "But I'm afraid that your homes back in Missouri have been . . . set on fire." The Auror took out his wand, and with a quick wave, the image of the Stephenses home in Bonne Terre, Missouri, appeared engulfed in flames. The Cattermoles tent was also aflame, as was the garage with the Stephenses other cars they had to leave behind.

"Son of a-" Adam swallowed hard. "I mean, _what happened_? I thought you said that our homes were _secure_!"

"The Aurors were recalled as soon as your families were safe and accounted for and all of the evidence was gathered," said the Auror. "We saw no need at the time to post any guards _after_ your families were brought here safely. What with The War in the UK and Storybrooke in Maine to worry about, we are spread out pretty thin, you know . . . ."

"Oh, Reg," said Mary. "Everything we own in the world is in that tent!"

"M-my Chocolate Frog card collection . . . ," said Matt. "All my stuff."

"My dolls and stuffed animals," said Evie. "My clothes . . . ." Ellie Cattermole moved closer to her new friend, and the girls hugged each other.

The Auror continued, "The good news is that we caught the arsonist. In fact, he was the one who called the FBS to report the fire. He's an English wizard who said his name is "Wormtail," but who we have identified as Peter Pettigrew."

"I've heard the name, before," said Reg thoughtfully. "I think he was in Gryffindor, a few years behind me at Hogwarts. But I thought I heard that he was killed by a wizard named Sirius Black over fifteen years ago." Mary nodded, and said that she had heard the same.

The American Auror said, "Do either of you recall _anything_ unusual about him?"

"Like what?" said Reg.

"He's missing his right hand," said the Auror. "The guy looks like a Sterno-Bum – smells like one, too. But he has a magical prosthesis hand made out of enchanted liquid-silver that must have cost a small fortune.

"We are interrogating him, now. He freely admits to destroying your homes, but that is not all that he has done." The Auror looked at the Stephens and Cattermole children, and said, "I think that it might be best if your kids didn't see what I have to show you, next."

"No," said Mary, who had a good idea of what the Auror was reluctant to show them with their kids there. "Our kids need to know what kind of "people" we are up against."

"That goes double for our kids," said Adam. "Show us."

Reluctantly, the wizard waved his wand again, and the image of the burning property expanded outward and moved skyward. There, above the burning house and tent was a cloud-sculpture depicting a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.

Mary took Reg's hand. Adam and Janelle hugged each other, and their kids moved closer to their parents. Dryly, Janelle said, "Something like this once happened to my grandfather. But it was muggles and they used a burning wooden cross to make their point . . . ."

Janelle shook her head. One of the most intriguing things to her about the hidden Wizarding World that she became a part of at age 11 was its too-good-to-be-true internal attitude towards people of different races, ethnicities, nationalities, religions and other "identifiers" that were a constant source of trouble in the Muggle world. Though from studying the History of Magic at Hogwarts, Janelle learned that this was not always the case; it had been so ever since the passage of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy centuries ago.

With the passage of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in the late Seventeenth Century, "Wizard" had become a virtual ethnicity (and a Mage's first "identifier,") in its own right. They may ostensibly share the same ethnic, religious and cultural practices as their muggle neighbors, but wouldn't dream of getting involved in their "petty squabbles." At first, Janelle had a problem believing that such Institutionalized Co-Existence could be true. But as time went on, she saw more and more examples of this uniquely Wizarding mindset in action.

When her family was out in public in Muggle Areas, she and Adam (and increasingly, also Matt and Evie,) noticed that sometimes they got "unwanted attention" in public as though a black woman with her white husband and their multiethnic children was something noteworthy; everything from heartwarmingly inspiring to dangerously subversive.

But in _All-Wizarding_ Areas, Janelle thought that she and her family might as well have been under an invisibility cloak . . . .

And yet, the Wizarding World's obsession with "Blood Purity" proved that when deprived of all other "standard" outlets; bigots will _always_ find other ways to feed their need to hate.

Janelle shook her head. "Well, all I can say is that I hope Mr. Pettigrew likes his new home at Miss Penn."

"Well, actually, Mrs. Stephens," said the Auror sheepishly. "That kind of brings me to the _second_ 'complication' that I mentioned . . . ."

 **Author's Note:** I want to thank  horacethepig for his assistance with composing Janelle Stephens' ruminations at the end of this chapter.


	18. Civics Lessons

**Chapter 18: Civics Lessons**

If prisoner exchanges in the Muggle World are nerve-wracking experiences, they were even more so when done among members of the Wizarding World. Among Mages, the normal protocol for such things was to meet at the agreed-upon location, and then once everyone was present, an hour and a half waiting period would begin to ensure that neither side was attempting to pull a Polyjuice Potion Fakement. And during the wait, with both sides nervous and paranoid, _anything_ could happen . . . .

Harry Dresden stood in an open field in Massachusetts behind a line of six folding wooden chairs. In the chairs, dressed in orange jumpsuits and bound by magical cords, sat Dolores Jane Umbridge, Corban Yaxley, Albert Runcorn, Vincent Crabbe, Pansy Parkinson and Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew. Harry sighed. _They aren't paying me enough for this . . . ._

It was a lot of prisoners for one person, (even for a wizard of Harry's power,) to watch on their own. But the demands made by the Death Eaters holding the American Muggle-Born Witch hostage specified that no FBS Aurors or Whitelighters may be present for the exchange. Harry shook his head in disgust. _So much for MACUSA's policy of not negotiating with terrorists . . . ._

Still, Harry Dresden was not alone. Keeping one eye on the bound prisoners, he asked the older, redheaded witch dressed in a flamboyant outfit with a lizard perched on her shoulder standing next to him what time it was.

"Two minutes and twelve seconds since the last time you asked me," said the witch calmly as she checked her wristwatch. As she did so, the Jackson's Chameleon on her shoulder looked at the watch as well, and then turned to Harry and nodded solemnly in confirmation. (At least, it would _look_ like a Jackson's Chameleon to any muggle. In actuality, it was a dwarf tricorn dragon.) "The representatives of the Death Eaters are supposed to be here at precisely four o'clock in the morning with their hostage. That's almost five more minutes from now." The older witch smiled reassuringly at Harry. "I hate the idea of Death Eaters on American soil, too; however briefly. But this will all be over soon, Harry."

"That's just what I'm worried about, Valerie," said Harry. "Look, you've never been part of a Wizard's Prisoner Exchange before, have you? Once they get here, we gotta stare each other down for an hour and a half to be sure that no Polyjuice or any other kind of glamour is being used and we actually _get_ the hostage we _came_ for and not a ringer. Of course, they will want to be sure of the same thing, too."

"Everything will be fine, Harry," reassured Valerie Felicity Frizzle with the smile of an eternal optimist. Her pet dwarf dragon nodded to Harry enthusiastically. Harry just rolled his eyes. "We'll recover the Death Eater's hostage, and get her home safely."

 _She shouldn't be here._ Harry Dresden shook his head. The only reason this witch was drafted for this is that she has a magic school bus large enough to transport everyone to the site of the exchange! But she has no magical combat experience, and if push comes to shove . . . .

As if reading his mind, Valerie said, "Harry, it is important to do whatever is necessary to rescue the poor girl. I don't like negotiating with _terrorists_ , either; but that girl is not much older than the children I regularly teach!

"She is also Muggle-Born, and she has got to be scared. In addition to rescuing her, we have to show her that there is _another_ face to the Wizarding World; one that does not care about "blood purity."

"But if something goes wrong . . . ."

"Then we do what we can to make it right," said Valerie resolutely. "But the one thing that we cannot do is just sit back and do _nothing_! My own personal philosophy of life is to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!"

Harry replied with a barely perceptible nod. How any witch can use magic while she teaches muggle fourth graders and still manage to comply with the Statute of Secrecy was something that Harry could not figure out. But now was not the time to try. Harry was starting to like this witch and was glad that she was here. If nothing else, Valerie Frizzle could undoubtedly be more comforting to the newly rescued hostage in the immediate aftermath of her ordeal than he could ever be.

Harry was about to say something, but before he could, Valerie checked her watch and said, "It's time." Seconds later, three streaks of black smoke (following a pre-arranged flight path corridor,) came out of the sky and dove for the ground. On impact, the streaks transformed into four people; a tall, well-dressed wizard with long blonde hair, accompanied by a younger wizard in his older teens with shorter hair in the same shade of platinum blonde, and a dark-haired witch, who was holding her wand threateningly at the throat of a slender, teenage witch with long red hair. For a moment, Harry wondered if the girl could be related to Valerie Frizzle, but before he could ask, the blonde wizard spoke.

"Harry Dresden and Valerie Felicity Frizzle, I presume? My name is Lucius Malfoy. This is my son, Draco, and my sister-in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had heard of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. He had seen Bellatrix's photo before on a BOLO flyer put out by the FBS, with a warning that she is considered to be "extremely dangerous," and is not to be approached if seen under ANY circumstances. In addition to being psychotic, Bellatrix was also rumored to be What's-His-Face's lover. _That would be enough to drive anyone over the edge_ , mused Harry.

Lucius said, "As you can see, we have brought the criminal we promised to exchange for the innocent, Ministry of Magic Civil Servants; a poor, misguided wizard who is undoubtedly emotionally disturbed and must not be held accountable for his actions; and the two Hogwarts Seventh Years who were unjustly taken into MACUSA custody, recently." At the mention of the latter, Harry noticed that the boy named Draco attempted to make eye contact with the girl named Pansy Parkinson, but that the girl did not make any effort to meet his eye.

Harry rolled his eyes and Valerie bit her tongue to contain her outrage. Lucius continued, "Of course, I have heard of _you_ , Mr. Dresden; the famous, Colonial Sellwand. And yet, I must confess myself . . . disappointed. For a supposedly powerful warrior-mage, you dress like a lower-class unskilled muggle labourer."

"Says the wizard dressed like a high-class muggle _pimp_ ," said Harry dryly.

The man's eyes widened in outrage, and his son took a step forward, "You take back what you just said to my father!" But when Harry fixed him with a hard stare, the boy turned even paler than when Harry first saw him, and then stepped backward, completely cowed.

"Not now, Draco . . . ." Lucius hissed quietly. The older Malfoy put his hand on his son's shoulder, as much to comfort him as restrain him.

The boy muttered, "There must be _something_ about the name "Harry" that makes half-blood wizards insufferably insolent to their betters, father!"

"No doubt . . . ," said Lucius. "But we are here to retrieve our compatriots, Draco. Anything else will have to wait for . . . later . . . ."

Ignoring the veiled threat, Harry Dresden nodded to the young witch being held at wandpoint by Bellatrix, and said, "Are you alright, Miss Rosenberg?" The young witch, (who couldn't have been older than 16,) tried to speak, but Bellatrix jabbed her in the neck with the tip of her wand, making the frightened girl wince. Harry said firmly, "Let her speak." Snarling, Bellatrix glared at Harry, and withdrew her wand from the girl's neck.

"I-I was in the UK during Summer Vacation to learn more about the Wizarding World when the UK's Ministry fell," said Willow Rosenberg, mindful of the wand being held to her neck. "Snatchers got me before I could get to Heathrow Airport. I was told that that way out was safe, but the Snatchers started keeping an eye on the airports and boat docks and even the new Channel Tunnel after some other people they were after managed to escape those ways."

"Are you alright?" said Harry.

"They roughed me up a bit," said Willow. "A-and they kept calling me the "M-B Word;" and I _don't_ mean "Muggle-Born."

Valerie wanted to say, "Oh, _that's_ real mature," or something like that to the Death Eaters; but decided to express her disdain with a stony look, instead. The witch holding the poor muggle-born girl was bad enough, but she was undoubtedly mentally ill; more deserving of pity than hatred – so long as she did not harm Miss Rosenberg, that is . . . .

But Valerie had nothing but contempt for the witch in the orange jumpsuit sitting with her back to her. The evil woman was a _teacher_ , for G-d's sake; responsible for the education of children! During the briefing session before the prisoner exchange at FBS Headquarters, Valerie was told that Dolores Umbridge was said to punish "disobedient" students by making them write repetitive lines with a _blood quill_. Valerie gritted her teeth. In her opinion, the wizard "teacher" who came up with the blood quill as a means of punishing students was as bad as the wizards who invented the Three Unforgivable Curses and the Horcrux _combined_.

"And now," said Lucius Malfoy. "May I suggest that we all calm down and wait out the ninety minutes as comfortably as possible?

"Mr. Dresden, I seem to have . . . _misplaced_ my wand. Would it be alright if Draco or Bella were to conjure up some chairs for us to sit in while we wait . . . ?"

"Keep your wands where they are," said Harry. "If you want to sit, then we'll all sit on the ground."

"On the dirty ground?!" spat Bellatrix outraged. "I wouldn't ask my _House Elf_ to sit on the ground!"

"Then stand . . . ," said Harry shrugging as he though, _This is going to be a very long ninety minutes . . . ._

Hours later in Salem, Massachusetts, the Stephenses and Cattermoles sat at a table in the corner of the FBS Cafeteria having breakfast, accompanied by the Addams Siblings, who had been assigned to assist the two families relocate after losing nearly everything they owned. In addition, the Addamses were assigned to coordinate efforts to guard the two families from Death Eater retaliation. Also there to assist the Cattermoles was the UK's Minister of Magic in Exile, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Wednesday Addams projected a look of confidence, but inwardly felt a mixture of anger, trepidation, and yes, even fear for the safety of the Stephenses and Cattermoles; especially the eldest Cattermole daughter. This was no simple case of Death Eaters wanting to punish those who defied them as an "example" to others. "Lord" Voldemort _wanted_ Maisie Cattermole – a Parseltongue like himself - to be his _daughter_ , and if not for the strain he was currently under due to his bid to take over the UK's Wizarding Community, he would undoubtedly stop at nothing to make another attempt to take the poor girl sooner rather than later.

Wednesday looked down at her breakfast – dry toast and jelly with a glass of OJ. She had no appetite, but that did not matter. Fuel. That's all it is; fuel to stay alert and active. She told herself that she would have a sumptuous meal at her favorite restaurant later, in celebration of successfully assisting the Stephens and Cattermole families.

The first part of their assignment – relocating wizarding families who had lost everything in an instant – was something that she and her brother had had lots of previous experience with, even before they became Aurors. The Addams family had a long tradition of philanthropy, and had recently provided copious financial assistance to the wizarding families who had been displaced by the sudden arrival of the unplottable town of Storybrooke from the Enchanted Realms on the coast of Maine back in '83. From working with their parents and years and years of hands-on experience as Aurors, the Addams siblings had mastered the delicate art of assisting those who had suffered misfortune without patronizing them in the process. But it was the second part of their assignment that had Wednesday concerned.

It was no great feat of magic to assist someone _materially_ ; especially someone motivated to not need any more assistance than was absolutely necessary. But the Stephenses and Cattermoles also found themselves in the scrying glass of the most evil wizard of their time; a Dark, Dark Wizard who had legions of dedicated, politically motivated followers eager to please him, or, more to the point, afraid to _displease_ him. (What was that old Aurors' joke? It takes an exceptionally brave wizard to be a coward if they bore the Dark Mark . . . .)

 _How do we even begin to protect anyone from something like that?_ Wednesday thought. _Fanatics who are steeped in the Dark Arts as much as they are in their Fascistic worldview . . . ._ Wednesday was aroused from her thoughts when a paper airplane memo landed in front of her plate. Although there was not much conversation at the table, what little there was stopped as Wednesday perused the communique while everyone waited for her to speak.

"Well, here is some good news," said Wednesday passing the paper to her brother. "Mr. Dresden and Miss Frizzle are safely back with Willow Rosenberg. Healer Rachel Martindale has finished examining her, and confirms that the girl is, in fact, Miss Rosenberg, and that she could find no traces of ensorcellments or curses. Other than a few minor injuries, Miss Rosenberg is expected to make a full recovery." Wednesday shook her head. "It seems that the Death Eaters simply wanted an American hostage to negotiate the release of their own people."

"So," said Mary-Elizabeth matter-of-factly. "Dolores Jane Umbridge is back at her post as head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission." It was a statement; not a question.

Pugsley nodded. "Most likely."

Again, the table went silent. After a few moments, Mary took a sip of hot tea (barely concealing her grimace at this American "instant" blend,) and said, "I'm glad that the poor girl's ordeal is over. She must have been absolutely terrified. I'm glad that she knows that not all wizards and witches are Pureblood Fanatics." The concern and relief in Mary's voice was mixed with palpable disappointment, and again, nobody knew what to say. Nobody except for Minister Shacklebolt . . . .

Kingsley cleared his throat, and said, "If it is any consolation, the . . . Organized Resistance - for lack of a better term – was able to take some advantage of Umbridge's absence of several days, to assist the families of threatened muggle-borns by getting them to safety; either to the Continent or in hiding in the UK.

"Furthermore, due to increased resistance against You-Know-Who and his puppet Minister Thickness, the Death Eaters have had to reprioritise their activities. Our intelligence reports suggest that top priority has been given to locating certain members of the Resistance, most notably a certain Boy Who Lived . . . ."

"Harry Potter," said Adam.

Kingsley nodded. "I think that it is safe to say that while the danger to the UK's muggle-born mages has not subsided; the opportunities to provide meaningful assistance have increased manifold. And you may rest assured that these opportunities are not being allowed to go to waste."

Janelle said, "It all seems so . . . so stupid! I mean, Wizards actually _don't care_ about a person's ethnicity, religion, national origin, sex or even sexual _orientation_. Why should it matter if a person's parents are _muggles_ so long as _they_ are born with magical potential?"

Kingsley made a sardonic chuckle. "Janelle, have you and Adam ever met any Pureblood Wizards from South Africa?" When the Stephenses both shrugged, Kingsley continued, "Well, as you know, Wizarding Culture is often influenced to a degree by the ways of the local Muggle Majorities, and not always for the best. In South Africa the Pureblood Supremacists there have adopted an Apartheid Model for their bigotry against muggle borns.

"Years ago, I once had the misfortune of having to speak with an Afrikaner Pureblood who would make You-Know-Who look open-minded by comparison. Every other word from his mouth was the "M-B Word." And his wife – the daughter of a Xhosa Shaman – was even _worse_!

"Now, Janelle, this Afrikaner wizard was paler than Adam, Reg and Mary, and his wife was darker than both of us put together. But even so, they look down on Muggle _Racial_ Apartheid or the Jim Crow laws of your country's recent past as proof that muggles are a dangerous lot who are uncivilised, unenlightened and vicious, even to each other – and would undoubtedly be even more so if the existence of Wizardkind were to become common knowledge.

"Mind you, _they do not care_ about people of different ethnicities, religions or even sexual orientations getting married – so long as they are both Pureblooded Wizards and Witches, that is. But they are actually in favour of the imprisonment of muggle-borns - who are obviously "magic-thieves" – as well as their "enabling spouses." And when it became apparent that I disagreed with them; I was balefully informed that space would be made to imprison "Blood Traitors" as well . . . ."

Janelle shook her head and let out a nervous laugh. "That is SO messed-up on SO many levels!"

Kingsley shrugged wearily. "I realise that it must sound like a Wizarding version of a bad "Monty Python" sketch," Kingsley noticed the look of surprise on Mary's face, and added, "Yes, Missus Cattermole, I know about "Monty Python." And "Benny Hill." And other muggle television shows.

"I maintain a small flat in Muggle London in case I have to work late at the Ministry, and it came with a television set. A person at the Ministry who is something of an expert on all things muggle showed me how to use it." Kingsley smiled slyly, "I even know how to program and use a VCR. I must confess that I found "I, Claudius," to be most fascinating!"

Kingsley then sighed, and added, "But as "messed-up" as those South African Purebloods sounded, they are an extreme example. Far more common are the mages who fear that an influx of Muggle-Borns will result in a _de facto_ nullification of the Statute of Secrecy that will draw us into _muggle_ conflicts; forcing us to fight each other at the bidding of our more numerous muggle fellow countrymen."

Adam said, "Look, Minister Shacklebolt, for obvious reasons, I am not a big fan of the Statute of Secrecy. Because of it, my mom nearly got sent to Miss Penn for marrying my dad."

Adam remembered looking through his parents' Wedding Album when he was about seven. The first page was a copy of their Civil Marriage Certificate. The second page was a parchment from MACUSA granting his mother a "Full Pardon" for her violation of the Rappaport Laws a full year before they were officially repealed. When Adam asked his parents what it all meant, they told him that they would tell him ". . . when he was older."

Later on, when Adam heard the full story, he knew that his parents were among the fortunate ones. Many mixed Mage / Muggle couples were not so lucky, and their homes ended up getting raided by Aurors and Obliviators. He also suspected that the only reason his mom wasn't sent to Miskatonic Penitentiary was that his grandmother Endora wouldn't allow it . . . .

Kingsley nodded, and said, "Though the Statute of Secrecy is not popular and results in our all-but-complete isolation from the majority of humanity, it is also something that many of us consider a shield that protects Our World from being drawn into Muggle conflicts.

"I don't think that you or Janelle would have wanted to fight Iraqi wizards some six years ago any more than Reg, Mary and I would have wanted to fight against Argentinian Mages back in '82 because some muggles couldn't decide who owned a few measly islands." Kingsley then noticed that the Stephenses' boy was looking at him quizzically. "Yes, Matthew?"

"Mr. Shacklebolt, Sir . . . ?"

Maisie leaned to Matt, and whispered, "That's _Minister_ Shacklebolt, Matt!"

Kingsley smiled warmly at the boy. "Yes, Matt?"

"I – I was just thinking . . . . All of this happened because people like my mom and Ms. Cattermole are being born into muggle families. But this happened because a long time ago, they had ancestors born into magical families who could not do magic and were given away for adoption to muggle families.

"But if these people were kept by their original families and in the Wizarding World, then they would grow up with us, and then we wouldn't have to go looking for their kids if they are born with magical abilities, or worry that they won't think like the rest of us. And then nobody could say that they "stole" magic."

Again, everyone at the table went quiet; impressed at Matt's wisdom beyond his years. Matt caught Maisie's eye, and he could tell that she was impressed, making him smile wide in spite of himself.

Adam said, "You know, son, there was a time when our family thought that I might have been a . . . a squib, and the local Witches Council wanted me put up for adoption into the Muggle World – even though my dad's a muggle.

"That was a short time after the repeal of the Rappaport Laws, and the Witches Council was still very behind the times. But your Grandma Sam and your Greatgran Endora wouldn't have it. Fortunately, I showed magical potential. But I am nowhere nearly as powerful as your Aunt Tabby, much less your Grandma or Greatgran."

Wednesday said, "Whenever a family wants to put a child who has no magic of their own up for adoption, we now offer them _counseling and other services to encourage them to keep their children in the family. We are also starting to set up special educational programs for children who grow up in magical families without being able to do magic, themselves."_

 _Pugsley added, "These classes and counseling sessions are also available to families with both muggle and magical children who are living in blended families through marriage."_

 _"You've all met Jennifer Martindale," said Wednesday. "Her husband, Corey, is a muggle whose father married a witch who adopted him when he was Alfred's age. Corey is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who specializes in Wizard/Muggle relations, and has worked with children without magic born into magical families._

 _"But it's a slow process. Changing the minds of an entire community isn't easily done. Even though mages are a bit more . . . "progressive" here in the USA than in other nations; a lot of this is a reaction to our recent history with the Draconian Rappaport Laws._

 _"But there are a great many of us who think that the pendulum is swinging too far in the other direction, now. And not all of these people are Pureblood Fanatics or Wizarding Separatists. Many are just people who want to protect the integrity of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. They are truly afraid of what might happen if the existence of Our World ever becomes common knowledge."_

 _The other adults at the table reluctantly nodded in agreement. They all knew that the worldwide exposure of the Wizarding World would be an unmitigated disaster for everyone – Wizard and Muggle alike._

 _Janelle said, "And none of us wants that . . . ."_

 _Evie said, "How come, mom?" Her brother and the Cattermole kids all looked to Janelle for more details, making her at a loss for words._

 _Ever since the passage of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692_ there have been a lot of "second thoughts" about the wisdom of separating the Wizarding World from the rest of humanity. If nothing else, it was difficult to "lead a double-life" when out in public. This was especially hard for the children of mages who were just coming into their abilities, and were very likely to inadvertently perform reflexive/defensive magic in public when they were frightened or startled.

Wizards and witches were part of humanity, and they did not like being "sidelined" – albeit voluntarily – while the rest of the world passed them by. Clearly they could not allow themselves to become involved in muggle affairs. The recent wars in the Falkland Islands and Iraq, which many mages still referred to as "Mesopotamia," (or even "Babylon," in the case of many old-fashioned purebloods,) would have been much, much worse if magic were to be used as just another weapon in the combatants' arsenals.

Over the centuries, several alternative ideas have been proposed. One idea was for wizards and witches to have their "own country;" an idea that had gained traction recently when a similar one was proposed by the muggle militant Mutant Leader, Erik Lehnsherr (whose own daughter was a witch, as well as a mutant.) But this idea was rejected by the vast majority of mages for a variety of reasons that gave one a headache to even attempt to contemplate.

Still other mages proposed an alliance with another group of muggle "paleo-mutants" known as "Peculiars." Though their powers, abilities, and appearances were as varied as those of the "X-Gene" Mutants, one type of Peculiar – were-birds known as Ymbrynes - had the power to create a kind of "coffer dam" in time where Peculiarkind could hide in safety from the outside world as well as from the creatures called "Wights" and "Hollowgasts," who hunted down the Peculiars with genocidal fury. Some wizards suggested that they could provide magical warding (as well as direct protection from Aurors and Whitelighters,) from the wights and hollowgasts in exchange for the services of the Peculiar were-birds to create time loops for Wizardkind.

Of course, the biggest flaw in _that_ plan was that if anyone were to leave the time loop for any length of time, they would begin to age up to the point where they would have had they not entered the time loop in the first place; something that could spell pure disaster to anyone who had been in such a time loop for decades or even centuries.

The kids waited for Matt's and Evie's mom to provide answers.

 _But before Janelle could reply, a red-headed witch wearing a flamboyant dress decorated with symbols taken from both Wizarding Alchemy and Muggle Science came up to the table, and said, (much to Janelle's and the other adults' relief,) "Am I late for breakfast? I hope that I can at least get_ _something_ _for my little friend Liz, here." She then looked at the children, making brief eye contact with each of them in turn, before saying, "So, can any of you children tell me what a Jackson's Chameleon eats . . . ?"_

 _The Addams Siblings introduced the oddly-dressed witch as a school teacher named Valerie Felicity Frizzle, and everyone there was somewhat surprised to learn that she normally taught_ _muggle_ _elementary school students. Though at first it would seem to be a violation of the Statute of Secrecy, there was a long tradition in both the US and the UK for witches and wizards to find work as teachers in the muggle world._

 _But it was not as difficult to do as one might think. According to Professor Mordicus Egg's famous book, "_ _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why Muggles Prefer Not to Know_ _," (also known as the "Sunnydale Effect" among American Wizards,) most muggles assigned mundane explanations to any supernatural event that they inadvertently witnessed, be it a dragon flying across a full moon or a school bus that can take a Fourth Grade class on a field trip to the center of the Earth._

 _Kingsley Shacklebolt rose from his seat and executed a respectful bow. "You have quite the international reputation, Miss Frizzle."_

 _"Oh, you are so kind," chuckled Valerie. "But your country's own Nanny McPhee and Mary Poppins are my own, personal heroines! It was because of them that I decided to become a teacher, myself . . . ._

 _"But I cannot help but notice that none of you children have answered my question, yet," said Miss Frizzle. "Now, do any of you children know what a Jackson's Chameleon eats . . . ?"_

 _Maisie raised her hand, and when Miss Frizzle nodded, Maisie said, "I know, Miss Frizzle. Jackson's Chameleons are insectivores. But your question is actually a_ _trick question_ _. Liz is not a Jackson's Chameleon; Liz is a dwarf tricorn dragon!"_

 _"That's_ _very good_ _, Maisie," said Miss Frizzle._

 _"I'm a Parselmouth," said Maisie matter-of-factly, and was relieved to see that Miss Frizzle did not even raise an eyebrow. "I don't understand the languages of dragons very well. But it sounded like Liz said that she would like some bacon, eggs and toast!" That brought some much needed laughter to the table from children and adults alike._

 _More seriously, Valerie continued. "So, I understand that you children have some questions about the current war in our world and the Statue of Secrecy. I thought that after you are finished with your breakfast, we could borrow a Room of Requirement to use as a classroom, and I promise to do my best to answer whatever questions you may have._

 _"It is a big subject to cover, but I think that we can get a good deal done today so that by tomorrow morning – Monday – most of your concerns and questions will have been properly addressed, leaving the rest of the day free to go over_ _other_ _subjects."_

 _"Excuse me, ma'am," said Matt. "What other subjects?"_

 _With an exaggerated look of surprise, Valerie said, "Why, math, spelling, science, and social studies, of course!_

 _"I have been informed that you five children could be here for as much as a week before the FBS can find a more permanent place for your families to stay, and need I remind you all that the school year is in full swing!_

 _"We can't have any of you children - especially Matt and Maisie – falling behind your classmates! You two will both be in middle-school next year; very likely at Randolph Carter or Ilvermorny. So at the request of the FBS, I have taken some time off from my regular teaching job to ensure that the five of you will be going to your next school fully caught up!_

 _"Now, please finish your breakfasts, children, because classes are about to be in session!" The dwarf dragon on Valerie Felicity Frizzle's shoulder nodded enthusiastically._

 _Matt just groaned._


	19. (Somewhat Restrained) Wrath of Endora

**Chapter 19: The (Somewhat Restrained) Wrath of Endora**

 _Moments after Lucius, Draco and Bellatrix had returned to the UK from the North American Colonies with Umbridge, Yaxley, Runcorn, Pettigrew, Crabbe and Parkinson, the Dark Lord had sent word that they all make themselves presentable, and to wait for him in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, where he wanted to have a word with them._

 _The Dark Lord had called this impromptu meeting at such short notice, that - even with magic - it would not have been possible for the other Death Eaters in his inner circle to attend. But there was no need to call the others, such as Snape, Greyback, and Scabior from their own, pressing duties. No, Lord Voldemort wanted a word with those who had recently displeased him only. And as he was not happy, the overall mood was one of unease._

 _The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire beneath an exquisite marble mantelpiece, (a present from King William I for services rendered by Armand Malfoy during the Battle of Hastings prior to the enactment of the Statute of Secrecy,) and the ticking of an antique clock. Adding to the illumination was the glow of candles from the chandeliers above the table where the Death Eaters had plotted and planned over the past few years._

 _Though the majority of the people sitting at the table were too nervous to make small talk or even to fidget in their chairs, there were a few notable exceptions. Bellatrix Lestrange, known to be the lover of The Dark Lord, and Voldemort's personal favourite toadie, Peter Pettigrew, awaited Voldemort's arrival with looks more of anticipation than of dread._

 _The only other exception, Pansy Parkinson, sat quietly at the table opposite from Draco Malfoy, but looked more bored than worried. More than once Draco tried to catch his girlfriend's eyes, but she seemed preoccupied, lost in her own thoughts. Draco considered trying to whisper to Pansy or to pass her a note, but before he could do either, the doors to the drawing room swung open and Lord Voldemort entered, his pet naga – Nagini - slithering at his side as he strode brusquely to his place at the head of the table._

 _As The Dark Lord approached, the Death Eaters all rose to greet him. Bellatrix lusted, Wormtail fawned, and the others did what they could to rein-in their dread. The Dark Lord did not suffer fools, or even those remotely associated with said fools, and though it was difficult to read the expression on his face that was deformed by dark magic, it was obvious that he was not happy._

 _Lord Voldemort took his seat at the head of the table that until a short time ago had been the chair of Lucius Malfoy. Nagini slithered onto the table, curling up before his master and regarding all present with imperious disdain and barely disguised hunger. After several, seemingly eternal moments, The Dark Lord nodded, and everyone took their seats. Several additional excruciating moments of silence followed. And then Voldemort said, "Well . . . ?"_

 _Those assembled at the table looked to one another to see who would be the first to speak, and potentially be the first to incur the Dark Lord's wrath. But nobody was quick enough to respond, and Voldemort addressed Dolores Umbridge directly. "What have you to say for yourself, Dolores?"_

 _Dolores cleared her throat with a "Hem-hem," and then said, "My Lord, we attempted to rescue the poor, pureblooded children who were being held by Blood-Traitors and –" But Voldemort cut her off with a hard stare. Again, the room went silent for several moments._

 _Voldemort said, "And because of your_ _carelessness,_ _a young_ _Parselmouth_ _whose ancestry may well have been traceable to the House of Gaunt was lost to me . . . ._

 _"I would have wanted to take Maisie Cattermole from her filthy, mudblood mother and blood-traitor father." Voldemort looked straight at Umbridge, and continued, "That_ _was_ _your original intention, was it not, Dolores? To bring the Parselmouth girl you discovered straight to me to have the supreme honour of becoming_ _my_ _daughter, free from the influence of muggle-lovers?_

 _"Or did you have something_ _else_ _in mind when you undertook this risky endeavour; contrary to my earlier and most explicit instructions to not antagonise the Colonial Mages at this time . . . ?"_

 _"I . . . I . . . . Of_ _course_ _it w-was my intention to present Maisie to_ _you_ _, My Lord . . . ." stammered Dolores Umbridge, too scared to feel cheated out of her claim on the girl._

 _"And yet," said Voldemort. "I have my doubts as to whether or not I should believe you." Voldemort then turned to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement for the Ministry of Magic, and said, "Was this, in fact, the intention of Madame Undersecretary Umbridge to the best of your knowledge, Yaxley?"_

 _Yaxley felt his throat go dry, but before he could attempt a reply, the Dark Lord continued. "Of course, your_ _actions_ _tell me that it must be so. Otherwise you would not have authorized a risky 'rescue mission' into the very heart of the North American Colonies; especially after I specified my desire to do nothing to antagonise the American Wizarding Community until I had consolidated my power here in the United Kingdom and Europe, first."_

 _"O-of course, My Lord," said Yaxley softly. "That was_ _precisely_ _Madame Undersecretary Umbridge's intention all along . . . ."_

 _"Oh, so . . . ?" The Dark Lord regarded Yaxley with eyes more reptilian than human, and said, "And if I were to ask the two_ _youngsters_ _who accompanied Madame Undersecretary Umbridge, I suppose that they would_ _corroborate_ _your statement?" Voldemort turned his baleful attention to Vincent Crabbe, and said, "What say you, young Master Crabbe . . . ?"_

 _Vincent Crabbe began to fidget uncomfortably and felt his mouth go dry and his pants go damp. The Dark Lord's gaze began to drill into him with a look that said, "Either give me an answer verbally now, boy, or I shall obtain it through legilimency . . . ."_

 _Now Vincent began to sweat profusely as a memory came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. It was the warm smile on Mrs. Stephens' face when she opened the door to her home to admit him and Pansy – thinking that she was assisting fellow muggle-born mages fleeing persecution. How he longed to hear the comforting, motherly voice of Janelle Stephens again:_

" _You two are safe now. Please come in. You can get yourselves cleaned up, and then let me get you something to eat. I'll call the FBS while you're eating. Don't worry. When I explain the situation, they'll have an Auror or a Whitelighter here in no time! Now, why don't you two tell us your names . . . ?"_

Vincent had no talent as an Occlumens. If Lord Voldemort saw this scene in his mind, and the way it made him feel . . . .

 _And just when Vincent thought that he was about to incur the Dark Lord's wrath for the first (and likely last) time, the unexpected happened. Pansy Parkinson yawned, stretched, and rose gracefully from her chair to the surprise and shock of those present. The girl, to the horror of everyone, stared frankly at the unabashedly shocked Dark Lord, and spoke to him clearly and without the slightest trace of fear in her voice. "Well, Tommy, I see that you are still as much of a schoolyard bully as ever."_

 _The room went silent. Now the Malfoy's fireplace sounded like the Great London fire of 1666 and the clock's ticking sounded like cannon-fire. Even Lord Voldemort was speechless at the girl's blatant insolence. And the girl took full advantage of the silence to press-on her verbal attack._

 _"Can't you see that this poor boy is terrified of you? Oh, wait, of course you can! But then again, bullies are essentially cowards. But at least now Mr. Crabbe here undoubtedly has some idea of how young Matthew Stephens must have felt when he got the wind knocked out of him by someone so much bigger._

 _"Ah, me! If only Mr. Crabbe were able to make use of such a lesson in the long run. But aside from his lack of intelligence, there is the small matter of . . . ._

 _"But what am I saying? I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, and allowed myself to be distracted by a little bully when I have bigger bullies to attend to. Isn't that right, Lord Moldyshorts, or should I say, Tommy M. Riddle . . . ?"_

 _The Dark Lord's shock quickly wore off. Simple death was too good for this girl's level of naked insolence, but in Voldemort's rage nothing else came to mind. The Dark Lord drew his wand and pointed it at the girl. Finding his voice, he screamed, "AVADA KEDAVERA!"_

 _The green burst struck the girl, making her glow. But she did not move, much less fall to the ground, dead. Draco said, "P-Pansy . . . ?" Lucius kicked his son under the table to be silent._

 _But the cursed girl turned to Draco, smiled, and said, "Now, do I look like Pansy to any of you fools . . . ?" There was the quiet "ping" of a chime, and the girl transformed smoothly into a much older woman with elaborately coiffed, red hair, who was dressed in an outrageous purple and green outfit (nor was the green a proper Slytherin Green, but a very loud shade of what muggles called "lime green.")_

 _The fear in the room now had a new nexus. Lord Voldemort lowered his wand as the red-headed witch fixed him with a "don't even think about it" gaze. Nagini froze in place, afraid to move in the presence of the stern-looking witch. Even Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to realise that when confronted by the infamous, powerful witch before her, that discretion was the better part of valour, and kept silent._

 _Though Voldemort never took his attention away from the newcomer, he addressed Lucius, saying, "T-this is_ _your_ _Manor, Lucius. Do you have anything you wish to say to Lady Endora, here . . . ?"_

 _Lucius Malfoy mumbled something, and Endora said, "What was that, Loose Lips? I am old, and my hearing is not what it used to be! Please repeat it_ _louder_ _so we may all hear you!"_

 _"T-this is my manor house, Milady E-Endora," said Lucius Malfoy only slightly louder than before. "P-please . . ._ _please_ _l-leave us in peace . . . ."_

 _"And why should I do that, Ludacris," said Endora with ironic pleasantness, "Especially when you did not show my grandson and his family the same courtesy when all they wanted was to be left alone . . . ?"_

 _"I-I was not among the party who went to the North American Colonies-"_

 _"I was not referring to_ _that_ _part, Lulabelle," said Endora. "You are responsible for nearly single-handedly running my grandson's business._

 _"Now, I might have been in a more understanding vein if your intention was to actually_ _compete_ _with my grandson and granddaughter-in-law. But I know that Malfoy Apothecary has no plans to set up shop in America –_ _not_ _"The Colonies;" we haven't been your colonies since 1776. You know, you sound deliberately obtuse when you say it that way!_

 _"No, you did what you did because my grandson married a young woman who is muggle-born, and you couldn't stand that, could you, Lunk Head? Could_ _any_ _of you . . . ?"_

 _Lord Voldemort said, "Please, Milady Endora, even you must realise that it takes two pureblooded parents to make a pureblooded child-"_

 _"Then my grandson's bloodlines are as "pure" as your own!" snapped Endora. "Like you, Adam's father is a_ _muggle_ _, albeit an honorable one, unlike your own father, who unlike Darrin, actually stayed with his wife when he found out that she was a witch – but you didn't hear that from me!" Though Voldemort bristled at the comment, he kept silent as Endora continued. "It is still "muggle," by the way, isn't it? Back in my day, we said, "mortal." Then it was "muggle." Then it was No-Maj. But_ _that one_ _went out with phrases like "twenty-three skidoo," and "four-flusher," or so I am given to understand . . . ._

 _"And now it's "muggle," again! Of all the mortal ideas we could assimilate, why did_ _Political Correctness_ _have to be one of them . . . ?"_

 _Keeping his composure as best as he could, Lord Voldemort persisted, "Then surely, Milady, a witch-of-parts such as you can understand the need to protect pure-blood society in a world overrun by muggles and their dubious ideas?"_

 _"As we also said in the 1920's, "Tell it to Sweeney!" And I don't mean Todd! You and your so-called "Death Eaters" are nothing more than ignorant bigots who cannot be reasoned with, so I won't waste my time trying._

 _"You need to be stopped for the good of all honest, decent people – wizard and everyone else alike – before you can make real,_ _serious_ _trouble!_

 _"I SHOULD ERASE THE LOT OF YOU FROM EXISTENCE! I_ _can_ _do it, you know. But just because I_ _can_ _does not mean that I_ _should_ _– for there are . . . consequences to that path, as well . . . ."_

 _"What do you mean by_ _that_ _. . . ?" said Voldemort warily, adding quickly, "Milady."_

 _"I mean that I just came back from a little trip through time," said Endora matter-of-factly. "I had to go into the past to right a wrong, you see."_

 _"Milady, our intelligence said that you went back to the 13_ _th_ _Century," said Dolores Umbridge neutrally. "But your great-grandson said that you were in the 12_ _th_ _. . . ."_

 _Endora rolled her eyes and sighed. "My great-grandson is a smart boy. But sometimes he still gets confused about centuries and dates, and when I told him that I was going to the early 1200's, he must have thought that I meant the 12_ _th_ _Century instead of the 13_ _th_ _._

 _"Anyway, I found out that in the year 1212 AD,_ _someone_ _tried to convince an ancestor of my son-in-law - who was the same age as my great-grandson is now - to go on a little trip with some other kids on some foolish quest to "take the Holy Land back from the Saracens." Had he gone, my son-in-law would not have been born. Needless to say, it took some very careful "tweaking" to set history right; these things must be done with great care!_

 _"Anytime a wizard or witch tries to alter the timeline, they could end up making things much worse, no matter what their intention may be. Not every one of us understands this, you know. Sadly, one of your own grandchildren will have to learn this lesson the hard way . . . ."_

 _Though Endora was looking directly at Lucius Malfoy when she spoke, he did not meet her eye. In fact, none of those present with the exception of Lord Voldemort noticed, for fear of making eye contact with the famously formidable witch. In addition to being understood that a soul-gaze from Endora could most likely fry one's brain, nobody present wanted to become the focus of her complete and undivided attention. In the end, all the Dark Lord did was to make a mental note to keep Lucius Malfoy under closer scrutiny than he already was._

 _Endora continued, "So when I found out what Delirious Drawbridge here did to MY family, my first impulse was to punish you all! But fortunately for everyone present, I took a quick side-trip_ _ahead_ _in time. And I saw that any personal revenge on my part would have to be set aside for the greater good. Therefore, I have decided – against every fiber of my being – to let you all off with a very stern warning:_

 _"Mark me well: MY FAMILY is now officially off-limits to all of you! And I am hereby placing the Cattermole family under the umbrella of my protection as well! Do what you will to all others, but leave my family and the Cattermoles alone, or damn the consequences to the timeline; I_ _will_ _punish you all most viciously and creatively, starting with your so-called Dark Lord and this ugly, pink toad here!" Umbridge let out a soft squeal of fear. Endora ignored her and continued, "Do YOU hear me loud and clear, Lord Folderol?!"_

 _"Yes, Milady Endora." Voldemort struggled to keep his expression neutral, thinking,_ _So I DO win, in the end! I MUST win! Otherwise, Endora would have finished me off right here and now!_ _But instead she had just all but admitted that she could not do so for fear of adversely affecting the pre-ordained time line. And as the Dark Lord silently canvassed the others in attendance, he could see that they understood this to be Endora's meaning, too, and the tension in the room began to ease up._

 _Even Draco found his voice. "M-Milady, what of Pansy . . . ?" Draco winced as his father again kicked him under the table._

 _Endora turned to the boy, and pleasantly said, "Your little girlfriend is safe and unharmed and under a sleeping spell in the room you gave her to use, upstairs. She was changing from that outrageous orange jumpsuit into her Hogwarts uniform when I bewitched her and took her place. I shall awaken her before I leave, and fill her in on what I just told you all, here._

 _"Now remember: my family and the Cattermoles are not to be harmed or molested in any way from now on. As for all others; do as you feel you must – I cannot interfere and though I do not like it, I must let history run its course . . . for now._

 _"But if_ _any_ _of you disobeys me with regards to my family and the Cattermoles, then not even the Sorcerer Supreme and the White Council can stop me from punishing each and every one of you!_

 _"YOU ARE WARNED!" And with a flourish of her arms, Endora vanished with a "ping."_

 _As soon as she was gone, Lord Voldemort held up his hand for silence for a few moments to make sure that Endora would not be coming back, (a habit that she was all too well known for.) When several minutes had passed, The Dark Lord lowered his hand, and with a reptilian grin, he said, "My Death Eaters: REJOICE! Our victory is assured . . . !"_

 _Upstairs in a guest room of Malfoy Manor, Endora waived her hand and Pansy Parkinson sat up, but the girl was not fully awakened, much less released from the spell she was under. Endora then told her what she had told the others with regards to leaving those under her protection alone._

 _And yet, Endora was unsatisfied. It had been all too easily done. But for history to take the proper course (meaning the course that was the less of an infinite variety of greater evils,) Endora had no choice but to leave these people unpunished by her own hand. She would have to resign herself to allowing_ _history_ _to punish them for her, and Endora took some comfort in knowing that all those present would either suffer for their acts in general, or at the very least learn from experience what happens when one dabbles with a dubious muggle idea known as "Fascism."_

 _Vincent Crabbe, the teenager who had brutally bullied her ten-year-old great-grandson for having the temerity to stand up to him would soon meet a fiery end. (Or, mused Endora, it_ _could_ _be the other boy, Gregory Goyle; the future was somewhat unclear about that.) But he_ _would_ _suffer for his part in this whole affair, one way or the other._

 _The vile Wormtail would get his comeuppance due to what muggle computer technicians would call a "malware program" that Tommy Riddle secretly enchanted in his liquid metal hand, ironically for actually doing the right thing for once in his miserable existence._

 _The rest would either die miserably or be sent to Azkaban for their crimes; especially the evil witch who tried to kill Endora's grandson and steal her great-grandchildren. But she was unimportant, and could even be dealt with at some time in the future when the dust began to settle. One thing Endora took pride in was her long, long memory._

 _Which still left the matter of what (if anything,) should be done with the girl . . . . Endora shook her head. True, Pansy Parkinson_ _thought_ _that she was "rescuing" kidnapped, pureblooded children. But also true, the thought of little Evie becoming this callow, spoiled girl's little sister made Endora's blood boil. But, as with the others, this girl had a role to play to keep history on course. And then, Endora smiled when she realized what needed to be done._

 _Before taking her leave and releasing Pansy Parkinson from her ensorcellment, Endora said, "Don't forget that when you hear the name "Harry Potter" mentioned in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, to let all know where he is and that someone should grab him. There's a good girl."_

 _And Endora vanished to the sound of a chime. Seconds later, Pansy was fully awake, and realising that she must have dozed off, went to join the others, hoping that she was not late._

 _Elsewhere, Endora just smiled._


	20. Strong Family Ties

**Chapter 20: Strong Family Ties**

For the second time in less than a month, the Stephenses found themselves in a waiting room at FBS Headquarters in Salem, Massachusetts, to await the fate of a family member who had been accused of violating Wizarding Law. This time, Adam's Grandmother Endora was being called to account for taking unilateral action against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the UK.

But unlike the first time when they awaited the decision of when ten-year-old Matthew Starr Stephens had set a hornet's nest on three Eighth Grade bullies, the mood in the room was a lot lighter. As with the first time, the ladies sat at one table, and the gentlemen sat at another. But there were far more differences than similarities with the last time.

For one thing, this time the Stephenses were not alone. The Cattermole family was there, and they waited for the outcome of Endora's hearing with them, as did three muggles; Samantha's husband Darrin, and Janelle's mother and father, Retired Air Force / NASA Col. Etienne and Marie-Claire Facillier.

Mrs. Facillier sat with her daughter and Mary-Elizabeth Cattermole as they did their best to keep Samantha's spirits up. Though Samantha had said that she was confident that nothing would happen to her infamous mother, she was nonetheless worried, and could not shake the nagging feeling that this time, Endora may have gone too far.

And this was a sentiment echoed by Darrin at the "men's table," where he sat with his son Adam, as well as with Reginald Cattermole, and Janelle's father, Col. Facillier. Darrin sighed, and said, "I'm sorry to have to say it, son. But this time, your grandmother's gotten herself into a dead-end that even she can't magic herself out of . . . ." Adam had heard his dad talk this way about his grandmother for as long as he could remember. But this time was different. This time, Adam's father actually seemed to be more worried for Endora's well-being than happy that she was about to get her comeuppance for everything that she did to him, real and imagined.

The topic soon turned to a muggle sport called "Football," but from what Reg could follow, it was not the kind of "Football" that he was somewhat familiar with. Mostly, Reg just nodded as he sipped some tea and munched on some beignets that Adam's mother-in-law brought with her.

As the adults talked amongst themselves over coffee, tea, and beignets, the children played happily on their own. Knowing that telling them to play quietly would be a futile request, spells were cast around the adults' tables that helped to deaden - but not completely block out - the sounds around them in case parental intervention was needed.

At the "girl's table," Maisie sat with her younger sister Ellie and Ellie's her newest BFF Evie Garland Stephens. The girls watched a Disney movie on VHS as they colored in coloring books and played with some new Barbie dolls provided by the Addams Siblings as they snacked on their own plate of beignets and drank Shmoo-produced chocolate milk.

The "boy's table" was empty (as was the plate of beignets and the pitcher of chocolate milk on it.) Matt and Alfred were done eating, bored with the "Princess" movie, and now they played around the tables with an enchanted practice quaffle that was also a gift from the Addams Siblings. As the boys played catch, the ball, which had a mind of its own, did not make this task easy for them, and would as like as not abruptly veer away to avoid being caught.

True, the adults knew that a Room of Requirement configured as a gym or playground would be better for this. But the unspoken opinion of the adults was that the kids probably did not want to be away from their families at this time, and the two, rambunctious boys were tolerated.

Back at the "ladies table," Janelle told the story of when she and Mary had detention at Hogwarts during their third year in an attempt to keep the conversation lighthearted for the sake of her mother-in-law, Samantha.

"Anyway," said Janelle, "we thought that we would have detention with Professor McGonagall, and we were both terrified! But, instead, we had it with our Potions teacher; a new teacher named Professor Snape.

"Now, this guy was a bit creepy looking; kind of like a movie vampire. And he talked really, really funny – I don't mean his accent, which was pretty cool. I mean that he practically made a sentence out of each and every word that came from his mouth!

"So, he tells us that for our detention, we all had to write a five-page parchment essay on – get this - "Who. We. Think. We. REALLY. Are!"

"Well, Mary and I had just seen the movie, "The Breakfast Club," a few months earlier, and when Professor Snape told us our assignment, and then said, "Any. Questions?" I just couldn't resist raising my hand, and when he called on me, I said, "Does Count Orlok know that you raid his wardrobe?"

Janelle continued. "But, to my horror, Mary and I must have been the only two people in the room at the time that had seen "The Breakfast Club." The other kids were raised in the Wizarding World, and probably never saw a movie in their entire lives, and they just gave me a blank stare! One kid was a Gryffindor, two others were Ravenclaws, and three were Slytherins. Mary and I represented Hufflepuff."

"You know," said Mary. "I still think that Professor Snape must have seen the movie, too. I mean, not only because of his choice of assignments, but because of the way he answered your cheeky remark."

Somewhat distracted, Samantha said, "Why, what did your professor say to you?"

Janelle cleared her throat, and in a decent imitation of her old Potions Professor's voice, said, "You've. Just. Bought. Yourself. Another. Week. In. Detention. Miss Facillier!"

"Oh, how I wanted to see if the Professor and I could do the exchange from the movie between John Bender and Vice Principal Vernon, but I didn't want detention for the entire time I was at Hogwarts! I just know that he must have seen that movie, too!"

"It might have been a coincidence," opined Marie-Claire. "Except . . . Why don't you tell Samantha what happened at the end of your detention when you turned in your essay?"

"Sure Maman," said Janelle. "I ended my essay with a version of the line from the movie. I stated that however we see ourselves, you – Professor Snape – see us as you want to see us. "As Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins." What really got me was that he gave me a high mark on my essay, and wrote that my next weeks' detention that I'd 'so richly deserved,' has been waived."

Samantha said, "He sounds like a decent person. A bit dark, maybe; but decent . . . ."

"That's what I thought too, mom," said Janelle. "And I didn't have any trouble with him the rest of the time I was at Hogwarts.

"But Snape was the one who murdered Headmaster Dumbledore with an unforgivable killing curse last year! And now he is Headmaster at Hogwarts and takes orders from What's-His-Face!" Janelle shook a bit. "If I knew that at the time, I would never have sass-mouthed him!"

Then everyone in the room was startled by a voice coming from everywhere that even penetrated the privacy spells cast around the adults' tables. "You needn't worry yourself over that, Janelle . . . ." With the sound of a gentle chime, Endora then apparated into the middle of the waiting room. "My Sam has the truth of it; Severus' mood is perpetually dark. But he is not evil."

"How do you know?" said Samantha neutrally as she got up from the table and went over to her mother, wide-eyed with worry. She was soon joined by everyone else in the room, the kids included, who looked to the Matriarch of the Magical Side of the Stephens Family with anxious anticipation for what was likely to be a very good story. "You 'skipped-ahead,' didn't you, mother," Samantha scolded. "I suppose that you are in trouble for that, too . . . ?"

"I'm not in any trouble, Sam," said Endora shaking her head reassuringly. "Before I could be formally charged with anything, I was interviewed by the Bureau's Unspeakables."

Darrin came over to his wife and put an arm around her. "You got some kind of plea-deal, Endora?"

"I cannot discuss it with anyone, Derwood," said Endora seriously. "Least of all with you!

"Yes, I saw the future, Sam. And what I saw will prove invaluable to MACUSA and the UK's TRUE Ministry of Magic in Exile. Even as we speak, MACUSA Representatives are smoothing things over with Minister Thickhead; who is not anxious to hear from me in person, I can assure you . . . .

"It seems that MACUSA will overlook the actions of "Madame Senior Undersecretary Dumb-loser Umpteenth," and her minions, and the UK's "official" MoM will not press the issue of my promise to act against the Dork Lard and his Dumb Waiters – provided that they heed my warning to them, of course.

"The "bottom line," as Dustbin here might say it, is that Lord Oldafart and his gang will not harm any of you – including the Cattermoles – in any way, shape or form, from this moment onward – and I would know if they even contemplated it. Believe me; they won't!"

As Endora spoke, Maisie whispered to Matt, "Why does your Greatgran always mess-up the names of people she doesn't like, Matt?"

Matt replied sotto voce, "She told me that if she uses a person's true name when she is angry at them, that she might accidentally curse them without even trying to."

Maisie's eyes went wide. "Your dad, too?"

"Nah, not now," said Matt. "Maybe at first. She told me that she calls grandpa "Derwood" or "Dumdum" as a "term of endearment," more than out of anger . . . ."

Endora continued. "Adam, I know that you and your family want to move to Louisiana with your in-laws. And now, thanks to me, this will be safe as well as feasible – something that my Godchildren – the Addams Siblings, will be grateful to hear. Oh, they were having conniption fits trying to figure out where to safely place you . . . .

"As for Reg, Mary and their children, they could even move back to their home in Evesham, if they wanted to. Trust me; NOBODY is going to give you any more problems because of your lineage or imagined lack thereof." Endora smiled, and added, almost as an afterthought, "Though for now, at least, it might be best if the Cattermole family stay here in the States for a while longer . . . ."

Reginald Cattermole breathed a sigh of relief that he had been holding in for as long as he could remember. "We can't even begin to thank you enough, Endora. In fact, we cannot even begin to thank everyone here!"

Mary began crying tears of joy. "G-d bless you all! For your kindness as well as your courage!"

"So, everything turns out alright in the end." Said Matthew; a statement, not a question.

Endora smiled at her great-grandson, "I can only tell you that your current nightmare is now over. But you will still have many, many challenges ahead of you. That's just life. But if you continue to meet these challenges as you have been - as a strong, loving family - then you will never fail. In fact, if Dumbridge had any understanding of this, any at all; then she would scarcely have dabbled with such powerful forces beyond her ken."

"Meaning you, Greatgran Endora!" said Evie grinning proudly from ear-to-ear. Like her brother, she was making a statement, not asking a question.

"Oh, I am powerful," said Endora matter-of-factly. "But the power that I was referring to that the Fat, Pink Toad cannot understand is the love of a family; the most powerful magic there is!" Endora rolled her eyes. "You know, I almost feel sorry for her . . . ."

At that moment, the Addams Siblings entered the room along with a blonde woman. Wednesday said, "Reg, Mary, I have some good news for you. We found a family willing to take you in for the duration."

Pugsley added, "And they didn't even know that Endora made certain that there will be absolutely no risk to their own safety when they made the offer to help!"

Wednesday indicated the blonde woman with them, and continued, "You all know Ms. Marilyn Matheson? Director DeMarigny's Secretary? Well, she has spoken with her family, and you will be able to stay with her Uncle Herman and Aunt Lily for as long as you like."

Marilyn said, "My family's home is at the other end of the country, all the way in California. You kids will be going to the same school that my younger cousin, Eddie – though I think of him more as my younger brother – and I went to." Then Marilyn sighed, and said, "Now, I should tell you that my Uncle Herman is a Flesh Golem, and my cousin Eddie is a Werewolf. If this is a . . . cause for concern for you, then I will understand if you would like to go somewhere else."

Reg smiled. "It isn't a problem at all. Not in the least!" The other Cattermoles nodded enthusiastically. Reg continued, "You know, I recall once at the Ministry Cafeteria hearing two Wizards who worked in the Werewolf Registry mention that a notorious werewolf named Fenrir Greyback had once gotten into a scrape with a lad from Across the Pond named Edward Munster back in the 1960's, and that Greyback had gotten the worst of it."

Marilyn laughed, "That's my Cousin Eddie, alright! We were in England on family business about 20 years ago, and Eddie was thirteen at the time. Greyback was about twenty and a lot bigger. But as they say, it isn't the size of the werewolf in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the werewolf!"

After everyone there had a good laugh, Mary said, "When would your family like us to come over, Mrs. Matheson?"

"Any time you are ready, Mrs. Cattermole," said Marilyn, who sighed and added sadly, "I don't suppose that you have a lot of packing, to do . . . .

"You can leave now, if you want to. In fact, if you do, you'll be just in time for lunch. Aunt Lily told me that she is making her famous bat wing soup.

"Frankly, I wish that I could join you. I haven't seen my family in months. But with everything that's going on in the UK right now and the ever-present threat of Storybrooke in Maine to worry about; leaves of absence at the FBS are hard to come by . . . ."

"Bat-wing soup?" mused Reg. "I haven't had that for ages! Mary never learned how to make it, you see." _And besides_ , thought Reg. _Wizarding delicacies can be quite expensive here in mostly muggle areas._ Reg shook his head. _Making excuses so as not to admit to being financially embarrassed? Merlin's beard! Now I'm starting to think like a bloody Yank . . . ._

Marilyn took out her cellphone (as a squib, she could not make a mirror work,) and called ahead. "C'mon, I'll escort you to the Floo Hearth as soon as you are ready."

"Well," said Endora. "My work here is done." Before leaving, Endora gave her great grandchildren a big kiss goodbye, and as she leaned into Matt to kiss him, she whispered, "By the way, your mother does get a Chocolate Frog card in her honor, sometime from now. But not a word to anyone else about this; the Unspeakables will have my head on a platter. It will be OUR own little secret . . . ."

After gathering up what little they had, the Cattermole family went to the Floo Hearth, with the Stephenses coming with them to see them off. Evie and Ellie promised each other to stay in touch by telephone, mail (both muggle and Owl Post,) and mirror.

As they walked to the Floo Hearth, Etienne Facillier turned to Adam, and said, "We should all be heading to N'awlins ourselves, soon. You've to get settled and find yourself some work, young man."

"Yes, sir," said Adam.

"You know," said Etienne. "Maybe it's time you start calling me "Pa," now."

Adam was too shocked to reply, but Janelle replied for him by giving her father a big kiss on his cheek. "Oh, thank you, Papa!"

And then Maisie Cattermole decided to make her move. She went over to Matt, and said, "I hope that we get to see each other again, either at Randolph Carter, Ilvermorny, or maybe even at Hogwarts, when things get better!"

Matt said, "They have to get better! Greatgran Endora said so!"

Maisie said, "Well . . . goodbye Matthew Starr Stephens." And before Matt could reply, Maisie leaned in and kissed the boy on his cheek before joining her family over at the Floo Hearth. "That's for being a good and brave friend!"

The adults all smiled. Evie, Ellie and Alfred all laughed. And while Matt made a big scene and complained about getting cooties, Matt also broke-out in a wide, ten-year-old's grin in spite of himself. It was his first his first kiss from a girl that he was not related to. And Matt had to admit that it was kind of nice.

And for the first time in a long time, it was hard to imagine that half a world away, a war for the very soul of the Wizarding World was raging . . . .

 **The End**

 **Author's Afterthoughts**

This story was a long time in the making. The idea for it began about nine years ago after "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" had first been published in 2007.

When I read about what happened to the Cattermole family at the hands of Dolores Umbridge, Yaxley, and the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, and how they were rescued by Harry, Ron and Hermione, who told them to ". . . get their kids and leave the country," I wondered what had happened to them. Did they get out safely? Where did they go? Who did they stay with?

According to the Harry Potter Wiki, "It is unknown if Mary and Reginald managed to escape successfully, or what happened to them after the war." So I decided to explore this sidebar to the "Harry Potter" saga in fanfiction, to see what might have happened. And I wanted the story to be a crossover with the classic, American supernatural TV show, "Bewitched," which I find to be remarkably compatible with "Harry Potter."

I did not do this alone. I had A LOT of help from fellow fanfiction hobbyists whose work may be found on this site.

First, I would like to thank Argonaut57, who helped me with general details about life in the UK in general, and in the Wizarding Community in particular, and everything in between (such as how much Wizards in the UK might know about Muggles.)

We also discussed my ideas about what the American Wizarding Community might be like. I had started this project long before the information revealed in "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" became available. And while I guessed wrong on so many points to the extent that my Unified Storyverse must now be considered A/U, I was able to weave in some canon details, such as references to MACUSA, Ilvermorny, and the Rappaport Laws (which were, fortunately for my story, repealed a year after Samantha married Darrin on "Bewitched" in 1964.)

Argonaut57 even honored me by giving my story a pre-publication-shout-out in his 2013 crossover between "Harry Potter" and "Grimm" titled, "The Wicked Witch in the West." At one point, he mentioned that the Stephens family had had a run-in with Dolores Umbridge back in 1997. As this was long before I even began posting my story in March of this year (2016,) I want to thank him also for his vote of confidence.

Next, I would like to thank the Marquis-Carabas, who also assisted me with making my UK "Harry Potter" characters not sound too "American." I also want to thank him for allowing me to mention his own Original Character of Judith Fairweather; the only Muggle-Born to be sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts. Her story, "Starnlicht," may be found on this site, and is well worth the read.

I would also like to thank the many other hobbyists on this site for their encouragement to keep this project moving along. Primarily, I want to thank horacethepig and Esther-Channah for taking the time to assist me at a moment's notice whenever I needed advice, and for making a lot of useful suggestions that got me out of a writer's block trap more than once.

Finally, I want to thank everyone who took the time to read and review this story. I hope that you had as much fun reading it as much as I did writing it.

Thanks again, and don't forget to keep your imaginations unleashed!


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